

PS 1274 
,C7 B3 
1884 
vol. 5 
Copy 1 


( 



UHUCOM IN THE JVl 


(N. E.) 


&tt historical Drama. 

[YEARS 169S TO 176S.] 


By ROBERT B. CAVERLY, 

Poet and Historian. 


DRAMATIS 

Campbell .A Settler. 

Mrs. Campbell, Of the Household. 

A New England 
Mother. 

Uncle Ned . . An Old Hunter. 
Sagamore Sam 
Blind Bill, 



Native Indians 


PERSONAL 

Robinhood . 
Liz. Tobey . 
Mehitable . 
Mrs. Tobey 
Freeman 
A Chief . . 
Lightfoot . 


Indian Necromancer. 
. . A Village Jilt. 
. A Country Girl. 
A Lady of Fashion. 
A Young Attorney. 
. . Of Pequakets. 
A Friendly Indian. 
























































HISTORIC AND POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT B. CAVERLY. 


VOICE OF THE CRITICS. 


“ Caverly, the author, is a distinguished lawyer. He has rendered an important service. 

He has brought into fresh notice times and men, .... has embalmed their deeds and memories in 
verse, which may well be immortal.” — Hon. Nathan W. Hazen, in Essex Banner of Aug. 10, 1866. 

At a public reading of the author’s “ Merriinac ” : — “ As we listened, we thought it might not 
improperly be called a symphonic song or poem of the creation, —there was such comprehensive 
blending of varied melodies. We were taken back to the time when ‘ the morning stars sang to¬ 
gether ; ’ and then, by the gradually more measured tread of the language, the worlds were 
launched, and the mountains reared their crests up to the stars. In majestic diction the hills of 
New England were depicted. In the more flowing numbers that succeeded, we were aware that the 
streamlets were born, and trickling, drew their silver line down the rocky slopes. Through the 
meadows meanders the peaceful river, gladdening herb and bird and man. The songs of the happy 
tenants of the air, and the sounds of many innocent and prosperous industries are heard from every 
side. Then, in more constrained, almost impatient rhythm, is given the vivid picture of Nature in 
chains, but even the captive is beneficent. No longer the sportive, rambling runlet, but now the 
giant Merriinac in the hands of the Philistines. The noise of a thousand wheels, the whirl of ten 
thousand spindles, and the clatter of looms, are pictured in language fitly chosen to typify these 
active, gigantic and incessant activities. And then, like peace after strife, comes the melodious 
description of the gorgeous fabrics, more wonderful than any fairy legend, and by the rich, subdued 
spirit of content that fills the verse, we feel, without being told, that a state of society in which all 
amenities, graces and charities flourish, is the purposed end of the magnificence and wealth of the 
creation.” — Rev. Austin S. Garvek, in an article as found in a public journal of April, 1877. 

“ I have read and examined Mr. Caverly’s poetical works with interest; and find them filled with 
effusions that seem to carry me back to other scenes and other times. In them is the fresnness of 
the present mingling with the past, that seem to touch the life and experience of the many.” — 
Hon. Judge Joseph Howard, late of the Supreme Court of Maine. 

Caverly’s Epics and Lyrics, as noted from one of his Public Readings : — “ The greatest interest 
was exhibited by the audience as he progressed in his recital of a walk among the mounds that mark 
the resting places of fallen soldiers on the heights of Arlington, and while passing from his prologue, 
as he carried his listeners in fancy from Washington City over the Potomac and up the Heights, we 
could almost imagine we heard the solemn rustling of the trees, and could discern in the twilight the 
melancholy records of the battle. We could almost hear the stranger whom the writer met at the 
outset, dissuade him from the visit by weird tales of ghosts and spectres. ...” — From Mr. Z. E. 
Stone, a celebrated Journalist. 


Of the author’s lessons of Law and Life from Eliot the Apostle : — “The author, in delineating 
the Apostle’s life, interweaves the history of New England in a brief and forcible manner, and 
learnedly follows out the conclusions and deductions of the story.” — Hon. John A. Goodwin, late 
of the Vox Populi. 


Of the author (and his works,) at one of his Public Readings : — “ He is fond of dressing up the 
quaint legends of the Aborigines in the language of poesy. The Bride of Burton, the Allegory oj 
the Squirrel, and the Voice of Spiring, are good examples of this work. The Golden Wedding was in 
a humorous strain, and caused a ripple of laughter to sweep over the audience as pictures of the 
olden New England life were drawn. The living voice and presence of the author are a great help in 
the enjoyment of his verse. The reader will find a fund of enjoyment in the perusal of his volumes. 
.... ” — Hon. ‘George A. Marden, in Lowell Courier of Oct. 26, 1871. 

On this subject. Rev. Elias Nason, the celebrated orator and author, says : — “I have perused 
the Epics and Lyrics with keen and sympathetic pleasure, and I congratulate the author on the 
advanced record he has made in beating the sweet fields of poetry. Aside from the intrinsic merit 
of his muse, the local scenes and circumstances which he poetizes become a part of our own life and 
being; and thus in reading him we have the joy, not only of perusing tuneful numbers, but of seeinr 
common things we know around us as by an enchanter’s wand transfigured into beauty.” 

Hon. Anderson Kirkwood, LL.D., in the Edinburgh Review, Scotland, says : — “ Both Ai 
cans and English have to thank Mr. Caverly for his laborious and interesting resumi of the 
Indian wars of New England.” 

“Beautiful in expression and sentiment.” — Rev. Dr. N. Bouton, the Historian. 































































Drama No. 5. Battle of the Bush. — Chocorua in the Mountains. 


Ut 




1 IN THE 


(N. E.) 



Sit historical Drama. 

[YEARS 169S TO 176S.] 



By ROBERT B.TAVERLY, 

1 ' ’ 

Poet and Historian. 


* DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 


Campbell .A Settler. 

Mrs. Campbell, Of the Household. 


Eliz. Wrinkle 

Uncle Ned . . 
Sagamore Sam ) 
Blind Bill, j 


A New England 
Mother. 

An Old Hunter. 
Native Indians. 


Robinhood . 
Liz. Tobey . 
Meiiitable . 
Mrs. Tobey' 
Freeman 
A Chief . . 
Lightfoot . 


Indian Necromancer. 

. . . A Village Jilt. 

. . A Country Girl. 

. A Lady of Fashion. 

. A Young Attorney. 

. . . Of Pequakets. t 
. A Friendly Indian. 


! 


ATTENDANTS. 

Chocorua, Mack, Eastman, Stark, and Jacob. 


BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 

1885. 

v, s c . ; 2 - 7 . ^ 

3 o l/ & -Gl 


























CONTENTS. 



Dawn of Peace on the Lake Shore. 

Chocorua,* Keoka, and their little Son. 

Sassacus, Philip, and Miantonimo fallen. 

Keoka — her Truth, Death, and Burial. 

Her Indian Boy, poisoned, dies. 

Chocorua’s Grief, his Crime, and Exit to the Mountains . . . 

Loveweli’s first Fight; his Forty Men. 

Liz Tobey, the Belle of Rumford (?), and Mehitable Johnson . 

Scalps of the Tribes taken by Lovewell. 

With Paugus — Lovewell’s last Battle. 

John Stark a Captive . . > . 

Meeting of the Lovers, Freeman, Liz, and Mehitable . . . . 

Murder of the Campbells.•. 

Ramblings in pursuit of Chocorua. 

Interest of all in the Search. 1 . . 

Battle News from Norridgewock. 

Rallse — News of his Death ; Chocorua slain. 

Dying Chocorua curses the English. 

Robinhood invoked as Soothsayer. 

Uncle Ned and Hounds, their Departure. 

Ghost of Chocorua. 

Major Waldron of Cocheco.. . . . 

A Fight for a Deer-skin.*. . . . 

Addenda of Many Matters. 

Indian Costumes. 

Music of the Mohawks. 

King Philip’s Apparel. 

Indian Money and their Customs.. 

Art of the Natives and their usual Apparel. 

Indian Manners, &c... 

Wars between Themselves . *. 

Battles, English against the Tribes. 

Location of the Tribes. 

Eliot among them. 

Troubles beyond the Seas.. . . 

Indian Origin, &c. 

Invention and Progression of the White Man, &c.. 

* Pronounced Cheh-cor-u-ah. 


PAGE 

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. 297 

298, 299 

• 3 °! 

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3°4 

3°5 

306 

3°7 


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333 - 34 ° 


Copyright, 1885 , by the Author. All Rights Reserved. 







































BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


CHOCORUA. 


LEGEND NO. V 


Prior to the settlement of New England by the white 
man little or nothing is known of its history. The 
deeds, noble or otherwise, of the native Indians, as well 
as the terrible happenings of the then past, are all 
covered in oblivion. And, as appears from the date of 
the first settlements, for an hundred years its annals, as 
now recorded, are but little else than a narrative of 
conflicts fraught with thrilling incidents. 

Among the events which constitute the beginning of 
New England’s history, the story of Chocorua, his event¬ 
ful life, his death, and the terrible curse that seemed to 
have followed his downfall, hath been made conspic¬ 
uous. It comes down from tradition, it has been told 
as true by Samuel Drake, by T. Starr King, and'others, 
poets as well as historians. This Indian, as it appears, was 
chief of the Peckwakets, who, with his tribes, wandered 
in the hills of New Hampshire during the first half of 
the eighteenth century. His wigwams, for the most part, 
stood near the north shore of the great lake; his hunt¬ 
ing-grounds were vast, and the lofty mountain on which 




252 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


he finally fell by the gunshot of a white man still bears 
his name. Indeed, his history is as true as it is tragic. 

This proud chief, who lived in romantic times, and 
who roamed in the wilderness of this then uncivilized 
■world, witnessed in his day many a tragic scene. North 
of the Winnipisseogee was a region of country which 
was attractive to the wild hunter on account of its 
mountain cliffs, and of its limpid waters, from which a 
large supply of fish, also of bears and other wild game, 
was obtained. There this wild man, Chocorua, ruled 
and wandered with his tribes. The mountain of which 
we have spoken stands in the town of Burton, now 
Albany. 

The story of his life and departure is this : Chocorua 
had a little son, and the squaw of his choice being dead, 
the boy was accustomed to follow the father in the 
deep forest, on hunting excursions. But the boy, being 
away from home one day, visited a white settlement, 
got poisoned, and returning to his wigwam fell sick and 
soon died. This terribly exasperated the valiant chief, 
as he verily believed the settlers had poisoned the lad 
purposely. 

Cornelius Campbell, as they say, a white settler, lived 
near there. And in the course of a few days this white 
man had occasion to be away from home. But alas! 
On his return he was horrified at finding all his family 
dead in the cot. In due time, the family being buried 
and the neighboring settlers having united, they pur¬ 
sued the chief as the murderer into this mountain, and, 
seeing him upon a crag of it, hailed him and commanded 
him to jump off. “ Me won’t,” he exclaimed, “ the 
Great Spirit gave Chocorua his life, and he will not 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


253 


throw it away at the bidding of the white man.” Upon 
that Campbell, raising his gun, shot him. Chocorua fell 
wounded fatally, and, while dying, he in doleful accents 
pronounced dread curses upon the English; such a 
curse, as they say, still remaining there to this day, rests 
upon everything in and about all that region. And 
ever since that time the same dread condition of things 
has been reported, and generally credited to be the 
dire results which emanated from the dying maledic¬ 
tions of Chocorua. Such a curse as in another place 
we have elaborated : — 

And thus the story oft is told, 

Chocorua hateful here of old, 

Brought maledictions many. 

“ Curse on yr white man’s soul,” he prayed, 

Curse on yer living and the dead, 

Nor give him gospel any.” 

“ Yr war-path let it lay in snares, 

Yr fields laid low of frost and tares, 

Yr pestilence supernal. 

Of crimes accursed for aye to know, 

Prompt penalties of pain and woe, 

On all yr heads infernal! 

“ Vile, heartless knaves 1 Ye killed my boy, 

My own Keoka’s darling joy, 

Ere in the grave she rested; 

By deadly drugs laid low he died, 

Me too ye’ve slain ! let devils deride 
Ye, tortured, damned, detested. 

“ Ho! let the war-whoop lead the fight, 

The torch, the tomahawk at night, 

Yr habitations storming; 

Drive deep the axe, the scalping blade, 

Spare never a white man, child, or maid; 

Give carnage to the morning. 


254 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


“Great Spirit let thy lightnings flash, 

Thy fiery vengeance let it dash, 

Down where the paleface prowls,— 
On Campbell’s head, on all he owns, 

Let panthers perch upon his bones, 

While hot in h—11 he howls.” 

Thus prayed Chocorua, bleeding, slain; 
Vengeance from thence eternal came, 
Devastation dreadful certain. 

Nay, ever since from then to this, 

Not a breath of hope, nor breeze of bliss, 
Hath moved the woods of Burton. 

Strange now in shadows stands the sun ; 
The Indian hunter’s day is done, 

In these New England borders. 

A baleful shaft his heart hath broken, 

Out from the cloud the fates betoken 
Unwonted, dread disorders. 

Dark on that night and hitherto, 

The heavens let fall malarious dew, 

Far down these murky mountains. 

Of all the flowers, not one is known, 

The maple leaf is dry half grown, 

And death is in the fountains. 

The moping owl hath ceased to hoot, 

The scrub-oak falters at the root, 

And the snail is lank and weary. 

The fated fawn hath found his bed, 

Huge hawks, high flying, drop down dead 
Above that apex dreary. 

Faded the vales, no fruits adorn, 

The fields are pale with poisoned corn, 
The flocks are lean repining. 

No growth the panting pastures yield, 
And the staggering cattle roam the field, 
Forlorn in death declining 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


255 


’T is thus we ’re made the slaves of earth, 
Mope in miasmas deep in dearth, 

Sad from some bad beginning. 

From cruelty to friend or foes, 

Our morbid pains and mental woes 
Prove but the pangs of sinning. 

High now a voice is in the air, 

As if Chocorua still were there, 

With wood-nymphs wild attending; 
’T is heard far up the mountain side, 

That plaint of earth’s down-trodden tribe, 
Bleak with the zephyrs blending. 

Great God, forgive our Saxon race, 

Blot from thy book no more to trace, 
Fraternal wrath infernal; 

That taints the atmosphere we breathe, 
The sky above and earth beneath, 

With dearth and death eternal. 


MAJOR WALDRON. 

At Cocheco and vicinity in October, 1676, much 
damage had been done. An hundred Indians had 
come in there; and half a mile above the upper garri¬ 
son at Salmon Falls, among other outrages, they had 
killed a man by the name of Tozer, and had taken his 
son captive, from which there was a despatch sent to 
Major Waldron, as follows : — 

“Salmon Falls, Oct. 16, 1675. 

“ Mr. Richard Waldron and Lieutenant Coffin: — 
These are to inform you that just now the Indians are 
engaging us with at least an hundred men, and have 
slain four of our men already,— Richard Tozy, James 
Barney, Isaac Bettes, and Tozer’s son, — and have 
burnt Benoni Hodsdan’s house. Sirs, if you ever have 


256 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


any love for us and the country, now show yourselves 
with men to help us, or else we are all in great clanger 
to be slain, unless our God wonderfully appears for our 
deliverance. They that cannot fight, let them pray. 
Nothing else ; but I rest. Yours to serve you, 

“ Roger Plaisted, 

“ George Boughton.” 

Thereupon the Major sent twenty men with a yoke 
of oxen and cart to take away the dead bodies. Ob¬ 
taining a part of them, a hundred and fifty Indians in 
ambush, firing upon them, frightened the cattle so that 
they ran back to the garrison, carrying part of the dead, 
and leaving the twenty men there to fight it out. Cap¬ 
tain Plaisted was killed; the others got back to the gar¬ 
rison, as the Indians took fright and ran away. The 
Indians then proceeded to Sturgeon Creek, to Kittery, 
to Cocheco, Exeter, Salmon Falls, Casco Bay, and to 
Wells. There, and in other places constant conflicts 
continued. Between the Piscataqua and the Kenne- 
beck upwards of fifty of the English settlers were slain, 
and nearly double that number on the part of the tribes. 

In these days rude fortifications and garrison houses 
were established almost everywhere throughout the 
settlements. King Philip having been slain; and the 
war supposed to be nearly ended, Major Waldron of 
Cocheco, with Captain Frost of Kittery, and their men, 
adopted the scheme of seizing and making prisoners of 
all the Indians that might be induced to come to Co¬ 
checo * at their call for a great training. Accordingly, 
a proclamation fora Training having been published, on 

* Dover, N. H. 


QHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


257 


the 6th of September, 1676, Wonalancet, with four hun¬ 
dred other Indians, were induced to assemble at Major 
Waldron’s at Cocheco, and there, with the English, to 
make a military parade, and, in the end, to enter into a 
sham fight. During the exercises the Indians were 
stationed to handle the drag-ropes of the artillery, while 
the English were, of course, appointed to manage the 
guns, and the sham fight commenced. Soon a gun 
exploded towards the Indians, at which the English 
infantry, by a preconcerted manoeuvre, enclosed the 
Indians on all sides, secured and disarmed them all. 

Hubbard says: “They were handsomely surprized,” 
without the loss of any person’s life, to the number of 
four hundred. They then separated the peaceable from 
the perfidious, and Wonalancet, the friendly Penacooks, 
Pequawkets, and Ossipees, were dismissed to their 
homes, while two hundred or more, having taken part 
in Philip’s War, were taken to Boston. Seven or eight 
of them were hanged for supposed murders, some of 
them were sent to other parts, and a small number sold 
into slavery. This was done to prevent them from 
uniting with the hostile Indians of the East. 

But for all this at Cocheco there was a day for retri¬ 
bution and vengeance, from the tribes not far away, yet 
to come. Major Waldron had a strong garrison there, 
and near him were four others. In the course of time, 
on the 27th of June, 1689, Rancamagus, a Penacook 
chief, in league with others, secretly contrived to sur¬ 
prise and destroy Cocheco. Accordingly squaws were 
sent, two to each garrison-house, to obtain lodgings for 
the night, and Massandowet, their chief, the same even¬ 
ing took supper with the Major, and, among other 


25S 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


things, told him they (the Indians) were coming the 
next day to trade with him, but said, “ Brother Wal¬ 
dron, what would you do if the strange Indians should 
come?” To which he replied, “I could assemble an 
hundred men by lifting up my finger.” In the utmost 
security they, in the garrison, retired to rest; but at 
midnight the gates were opened by the squaws within, 
and dread consternation ensued. One garrison had 
refused their admittance, and escaped ; all the others 
fell. The tribes crowded Waldron’s House,—some 
guarding the doors, while others advanced upon their 
business of blood and death. Waldron then, eighty 
years of age, defending himself, drove the savages 
from room to room, until from behind him he was 
knocked down with a hatchet, and then, being dragged 
away and placed upon a table, was stripped, gashed, 
burned, and otherwise tortured, until death relieved 
him. While gashing him they would say thus: “ I 
cross out my accounts.” While cutting his fingers off 
they would ask : “ Now will your fist weigh a pound ? ” * 

While this was being done, other savages busied 
themselves in compelling the women of the garrison to 
prepare suppers for them. 

In the garrison houses and elsewhere the inhabitants 
of Cocheco, on that night, to the number of twenty-three, 
were killed, and twenty-nine were carried away captives 
by the Indians through the wilderness to Canada, where 
some of them in the course of time were sold to the 
French. 

* In his trade with the Indians the Major was accused of using his fist 
as a weight in the scales, and of not always crossing out his accounts when 
paid by the Indians. Caverly’s Indian Wars of New England. 


I 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


ACT I. 

Scene I. — A woodland Cabin 071 the shore of the 
Winnipiscogee. 

Campbell. True it is, for an hundred years and more, 
dread conflicts have haunted these, our New England 
settlements. Peace now, with its plenteous harvests in 
and about us, reigns. Quietude and loveliness, like the 
sweet peace of Jerusalem, is here. Vanished far away, 
none of the tribes inhabit this wilderness save the 
Pequawkets, over whom the wild old Chocorua as chief 
wanders. Attending him daily there is the faithful 
Keoka, whom his Indian boyhood had wooed in these 
woods, on the river side yonder, not far away. Keoka 
is still with him, with a lovely little son, grown in years, 
just above the age of a papoose. His hunting-grounds 
are in the distance north, above the great lakes, in and 
about yonder mountain. \Enter Mrs. Campbell.] 
Mrs. Campbell, I was just now soliloquizing upon the 
peacefulness, and upon the present prosperity of our 
new world, anticipating sweet repose, nay, much plea¬ 
sure, in this rural, isolated little cot of ours. 

Mrs. Campbell. Yes, husband, I am greatly encour¬ 
aged to have you feel secure in life and property, now 

259 



26 o 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


that the great melancholy past no longer lingers here 
to afflict us. Long ago Sassacus and his nation, falling 
at the point of an English sabre, in the dreary midnight, 
perished. Miantonimo, long ago, he also perished at 
the bloody hand of Uncas and the Colonies. King 
Philip also, of more recent fame, was hunted down and 
slain of Alderman. All, all now being dead, why 
should n’t we, my dear husband, live in gratitude, hence 
to enjoy the little which seems now to have been left 
to us of rural life. Yet beware, I beseech of you, my 
dear, beware of the Pequawkets. They, though peace¬ 
ful now, are naught but savages. They still bear, upon 
their brawny arms, blood-stains from the veins of our 
ancestors. Fearful, indeed, have I always been, since 
Chocorua’s wigwam is, as you know, so near to us. 

Campbell. That may be so, yet you will remember 
that Ralle, of Norridgewock, who long since advised 
and instigated the French and Indians to our injury, 
being slain, as well as others, we need not have further 
fears in that direction, and peace, for all I can descry, 
is ours — ours, as we may trust, forever. [Exit. From 
behind the cabin enters Elizabeth Wrinkle.] 

Mrs. Wrinkle. My dear Mrs. Campbell, sad news is 
at hand. Chocorua’s squaw, our excellent Iveoka, is 
dead and buried. 

Mrs. Ca?npbell . Why, Elizabeth, who tells it ? How 
did it happen ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. It was very, very sudden. She’d 
been ill only one day; was walking around the wigwam 
but a very little time before the vital breath left her. 
Alas, how that wild old chief will mourn and miss her. 
Tears! tears ! Chocorua loved Keoka tenderly. In 





CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 261 

fact, ’t is of his love the poets have sung. Oh, that I 
had memory to repeat the language itself. ’T was like 
this: — 

A priest from boyhood brave he roved, 

Faithful at heart, he fervent loved 
Keoka, ne’er to sever ; 

No happier pair could earth produce: 

Keoka true and a proud papoose, 

Inspired that wigwam ever. 

But alas, alas! the tender links of love between them, 
at least for this world, have dropped asunder. 

Mrs. Campbell. True, and I well remember also 
how faithfully Keoka had always served to cheer the 
life of her dear chief, and how much she hath been 
sung for her faithfulness also. ’T was thus the poet 
honored her: — 

With truth and trust and patient pride, 

At morn, at noon, or eventide, 

She calmed the cloudy hour ; 

Her heart was full of love and song, 

She cheered Chocorua’s life along, 

She brought him many a flower. 

But how, my dear Elizabeth, did the Indians designate 
the burial place of Keoka ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. List! list! In measured language of 
poesy, already foreshadowed, allow me to answer you. 

A white flag standing in the air, 

The stars of heaven shall glitter there, 

And the zephyrs long shall love her; 

Deep woodlands whispering sighs unknown, 

The plaintive pines their loss shall moan, 

Sweet flowers shall bloom above her. 

Mrs. Campbell. Ah, how truthful! What now, my 
dear, will become of Chocorua’s nice little Indian boy, 


# 


r 


2 62 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


now that its dear mother is gone ? And that old chief, 
great indeed must be his grief! 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, how true ! Now, indeed, they 
say: — 

Ten times a day Chocorua weeps, 

Ten times a day his shadow sweeps 
In plumy form around her; 

The partridge flutters from his trail, 

The she-wolf nightly heard his wail, 

To a troubled trance it bound her. 

True, they say : — 

Where’er he turns, where’er he roams, 

Or when around the grave he mourns, 

There , prompt and true to mind him, 

That little lad with lifted eye, 

As if to hail that mother nigh, 

Trips on and stands behind him. 

Chocorua. is often at her grave. Still there he weeps. 
\Rear slide, moving, uncovers Chocorua and his boy at 
the grave of Keoka. In tableau .] 

Scene II. — Same. Present ladies — Mrs. Campbell 
and Wrinkle. Enter Uncle Ned and hounds. 

Uncle Ned. Ladies, I hope I have n’t interrupted 
you in your conversation. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, no. 

Uncle Ned. How ? I did n’t understand ye ( raising 
his hand to his ear). 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, no, I say. 

Uncle Ned. Wal, as I was going to say, an awful 
thing has happened. I mistrust it. Chocorua’s boy, 
that you saw here, has fallen down, terrible sick. He’s 
vomiting and is casting up his accounts, agonizing 
dreadfully, and they say that are curse of a Campbell 



Pen tunes a day Cliocorua wept, 
ien times a r.ay Ins shadow swept. 
In plumy form around her; 









CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 263 

has poisoned him. The boy was out about there play¬ 
ful in the white settlement, just before night, so old 
Aunt Kesiah says. And as the boy always liked little 
knick-nacks — sweet things — they gin him a dose of 
rotgut; and faith, I believe they poisoned him a pur¬ 
pose. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, Lord, Lordee ! Can that be so ? 
That noble little boy, that brought the flag to the grave 
of his mother. Is he poisoned ? Oh, how sad. But 
does Chocorua know it ? 

Uncle Ned. How ? ( touching his ear.) 

Mrs. Wrinkle (aloud). I say, does Chocorua know it ? 

Uncle Ned. He ’s away now, but when he returns, 
when he finds it out, when he gets to the bottommost 
facts, somebody will catch it; this you may well be¬ 
lieve. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Most beautiful, excellent boy; he 
always was so faithful to his dear mother, now dead, 
and true in life, faithful in death. Oh, he was so true 
and obedient to her, and also to his wild old father, the 
chief himself. It cannot be that a boy so noble is so 
soon to die. Oh, let heaven forbid it. 

Uficle Ned (raising his voice). Forbid! did ye say? 
By the faith of Saint Peter, the chances, according to 
my notions, are agin ye. The boy seemed to me to be 
in a fit. ’T was an awful uproar of all-overishness. I was 
down there on the edge of Bushtown when I heard the 
uproarous outcry. Old Mother Crane’s cap set right 
straight back. Sal Strout ran for the Injun Doctor; 
and old Bridget Buffum hastened to the rescue with 
her apron chucked full of green arbs. But whether 
they ’ll kill him, or cure him, or curse him, is yet to be 


264 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


seen. Indeed, it may be well to inquire whether it was 
the medicine that killed the papoose, or the pison. 
Wait awhile, and ye ’ll see. Murder they say, always 
creeps out on all fours — 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Wait; I ’ll go. Give me my shawl. 
I ’ll go down there. This news is distracting. 

Uncle Ned. What did you say ? (raising his hand). 

Mrs. Wrinkle. I say I ’ll go down there. 

Uncle Ned. Oh, excuse me. (He hastily obtains a 
shawl for her.) 

[.Exit Mrs. Wrinkle. Enter Sagamore Sam. 

Uncle Ned. Wal, Sam, what do you hear ? 

Sam (loud, drawling.) Hear ? I have been told that 
Chocorua has gone away ; that he’s on a hunt towards 
the great lake. He is up there, far away, and there’s 
trouble in the wigwams. I saw up here, as I came 
along, many Injuns, lurking about in the distance, — 
fighting-men and squaws. (Loudly, in his ear.) Uncle 
Ned, what do ye think about it? 

Uncle Ned. I had been talking with Elizabeth 
Wrinkle all about this business before you came in. ’Tis 
my belief that the Indian boy is pisoned. Our English 
neighbors seem disposed to do up business jist like that. 
They profess religion, — much more than they ever have 
got. They came honestly by their deviltry,—brought 
it with urn, when they come over the sea. I’ve no affec¬ 
tion for um. Never had any for a snake or for a sneak. 
They never can stand up straight if they try. They ’re 
creepers, — they kinder crawl. There’s as much pison 
in their hearts as in their hands ; in their fangs as in 
their fingers ; and everybody knows it. [Exit. 

Sam (alone). True it be ; trouble with the tribes will 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 265 

surely return to the white man, for it be his own intru¬ 
sions. Englishmen be wicked, overbearing, yielding no¬ 
thing; not half enough. Yet he calls it civilized world. 
Still it be a wilderness, and we be more angry now than 
before the white man came over. \Enter Mrs. Wrin¬ 
kle.] What have ye, lady, to cheer us. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. No cheer. The death of Chocorua’s 
favorite lad comes now to impart to us fearful sorrow. 
He has fallen, as we surmise, by force of a poisonous 
drug. The certainty of this rumor, however, will prob¬ 
ably never be known. The poor old chief is greatly 
afflicted. Deeply indeed will he mourn the loss of his 
darling boy. Weep sadly he will, doomed, as he is, to 
wander alone through yonder hunting-grounds without 
him. Ah, Chocorua! here he comes. [ Exit as if in 
fearl\ (Enter Chocorua bearmg a dagger, tomahawk, 
and scalping-knife, hesitating, appealing bewildered?) 

Chocorua (talking to himself ). Hark ! me is nowhere ! 
Me in pain ! They kill me boy ! me boy! Killed me 
boy, my boy ! Me Keoka ; my Keoka’s boy ! Where, 
where, where be they (pointing his dagger this way and 
that) ? Where be white man ? Where be Campbell 
(brandishing it) ? Me hunt um ! me hunt him ! me 
hunt him ! Me hunt um all ! [Flying aivay, vociferating 
the war-whoop. He is heard in the distance: “ Woach! 
woach ! ha ! ha / ha / hack ! woach 7”" 1 

Scene III. — Same 

Sam. Further news hath come. News, great news 
it be. It comes to this : Captain Lovewell raised forty- 
six men in Dunstable, and about three weeks ago 
started to shoot the angry tribes in the east. 


266 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Uncle Ned (listening ). How ? What did you say ? 

Sam. I say Captain Lovewell has gone to kill the 
Indians. 

Uncle Ned. Oh, yes ! I understand. I s’pose’t is that 

same Captain who, a month ago, with twenty men, went 

off, and near a pond killed ten Injuns. The savages 

were taking a nap. I guess they’d been on a bust, — 

busting it. Our whites pinted their firelocks each to 

his victim, took straight aim, fired, and killed the whole 

flock of um, ten in number, all told, scalped um, and 

then took for home in a hurrv. 

✓ 

Sam. What then ? 

Uncle Ned. Rampant down they came to old Co- 
checo, on their way to Boston. The scalps of the cruel 
critters they piked upon poles, hoisted them to the 
heavens, and tilted um through Cocheco with a flourish 
of trumpets, just as if scalps didn’t cost nothing at all, 
— and a considerable less. Ah ! how wise the old wo¬ 
men looked, who had seen so many on um. But the 
gals were green; some of um fled to distraction. One 
lost a shoe, another a cap, and another her indispensa- 
bles ; and they were troubled. They had the nightmare 
terribly, all on um, night after night, for a long time 
afterwards. Only think on't, them there scalps brought 
um five hundred dollars apiece. 

Sam. But me hear they were the scalps of friendly 
Indjuns. Anyhow, Lovewell made money on um, — 
more, by half, than as if they’d been coonskins. 

Uncle Ned. What ? What did ye say ? 

Sa?n. I said the authorities in Boston are a bio- 

O 

fraud. That they have laid aside their Bibles and 
prayer-books, and that their secret intention upon the 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 267 

tribes be nothing but extermination. Love well’s vic¬ 
tims, I hear, were all friendly Indians. 

Uncle Ned. Wal, what of that ? What if they were 
friendly, their scalps were as good as any ; would bring 
jist as much in the market. That five hundred dollars 
apiece for um was a mighty nice price ; a tip-top thing 
for a backwoodsman. Lovewell’s men went in, hard 
up, for the odd change ; and so do I. Five hundred 
dollars for an Indjun’s pelt! Five hundred dollars, five 
hundred dollars; yes, give me that, and I’d have In¬ 
dian pelts on a pole, a score on um, jist in the shortest 
time ! And in faith I should n’t wait, or inquire for the 
friendship of a savage. It would be all the same. The 
scalp would bring just as much. We all have a kind 
of an interest in um. But it is a claim not much to be 
coveted in these settlements. I ’d like to have nothing 
more to do with the tarnal critters. I’d gladly quit¬ 
claim my interest in all on um, and would make a 
mighty big discount. But as it is \Enter Mrs. Wrin¬ 
kle], I go in for scalps. Twenty pounds a scalp, and 
no discount, is the colonial price, and let us have exter¬ 
mination ; yes, extermination, — pork and beans, a 
plenty on um, old rum, onions, and tobacco. Then 
you and me, Mrs. Wrinkle, will enjoy life with the 
sweetest content. And, faith, would n’t we, Mrs. Wrin¬ 
kle, begin the world anew ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, yes; wouldn’t we, Uncle Ned. 

(Curtain.) 


ACT II. 


Scene I .—A Parlor in Rumford. Present Uncle 
Ned and Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Well, you know old Deacon Johnson, 
who lived up here a mile or two in the country ? 

Uncle Ned. Heh (putting his hand to his ear) ? Heh ? 
What did you say ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle (loudly). Old Deacon Johnson is 
dead, — killed by the Injuns, — and his daughter, Me- 
hitable, is coming in here at Rumford, to her Uncle 
Jonathan’s, to live. You’ve seen Mehitable ? 

Uncle Ned. Who did ye say (with hand to his ear) ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle (raising her voice). Mehitable, the , 
Deacon’s only daughter. They talk as if she would be 
a good companion for Liz. 

Uncle Ned. What do ye say her name is ? Is it Je- 
rubabel ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle (loudly). Yes, Jerubabel! (Aside) 
That name will do as well as any. 

Uncle Ned. Oh, yes! Yes, I know her; I know 
that gal right well. My word for it, she will be the belle 
of Rumford. She ’ll make the wheel whirl, and buzz, 
like the tail of a rattlesnake. I ’ve seen her do it; and 
you’ll believe it, it gave me a sorter glorious, sposmatic 
268 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 269 

kind of an all-overishness to hear her sing, and see her 
\ > o’ 

dance and spin. By the Father of Mercies! if I was 
only young enough, she should be the gal for me, and 
there wouldn’t be the least bit of a slobbering about it, 
nither. Never at all; never at all. But you say she ’s 
coming to live at her Uncle Tobey’s. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. I do. She i‘s bred to good habits. 
Her father, you know, lately left us, and it becomes 
proper that Mehitable the daughter, being left alone, 
should be properly cared for by her uncle. But how 
it will please the family, remains to be seen. His 
daughter Liz has been bred to a higher life. She’s 
fond of dress and ornaments and amusements, and 
likes the display of wealth. Not so of the industrious, 
labor-loving Mehitable. She abhors idleness; she hails 
the early morning; catches inspiration from the joyful 
bird; and when night comes there is bliss in the sweet¬ 
ness of repose. 

Uncle Ned. I don’t understand half ye say. But 
why did n’t ye take Mehitable to some old farmer ? or 
to some country esquire, some doctor, or other profes¬ 
sional man, who would know how to appreciate her 
industrial qualities. It’s no use to bring her here. 
It is difficult to know a fashionable gal in her full rig 
from a moping turkey-buzzard, or from a full-fledged 
guinea hen, or a shanghai rooster. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. You know, Uncle, that Liz Tobey 
has at this time no companion, save her darling lap-dog, 
no care nor amusement, save what comes from a cold, 
monotonous — “ nothing to do ; ” and this is enough to 
unsettle the peace of any one. (Loudly in his earl) 
Her mother, Mrs. Tobey, as I understand, is quite 


2yo 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


pleased with the fact that Mehitable is soon to be a 
member of her family. 

Uncle Ned. Yes, mightily. But there’s one that 
won’t be pleased, — I ’ll bet ye a leather medal and a 
tin whistle of that. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Ah, I know whom you mean. ’T is 
Liz you are speaking of. Liz, as you think, will dis¬ 
like Mehitable’s industry. 

Uncle Ned. That’s so. She’s full of flounces, full 
of flirtations. I saw her t’other day, and what do you 
think I saw of her ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Well, what ? 

Uncle Ned. I saw her one day a-coming. She was 
a perfect bender with a big hump, such as the fashion¬ 
able trade nowadays usually make to order, — a buster 
flounced up on the parts posterior, and bordered with a 
hoop. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, yes, indeed ; I clearly perceived 
it. She wore a bender; — was kinder bent, this way 
(bending inquiringly) ? 

Uncle Ned. Yes, the brim of her cap seemed to set 
every which way. It kinder followed the pints of the 
compass — setting north, south, and all about. Her 
form was wasp-like, it looked like the little eend of 
nothing at all, kinder whittled out. The whole con- 
sarn, rigged out as’t was, was a huge bender, a sort of 
a buster — as you may say, something ( imitating ) like 
unto this. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. But, sir, you ’ll bear in mind that the 
father is dead, that the family is broken up, and Mehit¬ 
able is alone. It is but charity that her Uncle Tobey 
should bring her to his own house here at Rumford to 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 271 

share with him its comforts. And such is the arrange- 
nient. [ Curtain. 

Scene II.— A Cot near LovewelFs Pond. Present , 
Mrs. Wrinkle. Enter Sagamore Sam. 

Sam. The story comes that Captain LovewelFs com¬ 
pany of forty-six men are on the way to duty. Long 
ago you had heard how they enlisted, and how they 
marched out from Dunstable, bearing weapons of war; 
how they have hunted the hostile tribes far, far away, 
in the Pequawket wilderness; and how they at one time 
slew ten of them and sold their scalps in Boston. And 
now they have gone again. There’s to be another fight. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, we had heard of their going, — 
and this last time we hear they have been gone into the 
woods more than a month. And that same song of 
LovewelFs first fight still moves us. I was just now 
thinking of the sad story, and as how it is oft repeated: — 

“’Tis Paugus leads the Pequawket tribe,— 

As runs the fox will Paugus run; 

As howls the wild wolf will he howl, 

•A, 

A huge bearskin has Paugus on. : ’ 

u To him the noble Lovewell goes, 

% With fifty men from Dunstable; 

The wild Pequawket tribe to oppose, 

With war and bloodshed 'terrible ! ” 

Sam. That be good song. We have heard of that 
tribe, and how desperately they fight from bush to bush. 
Oh, how they yelled. 

Mrs. Wrmkle. But where is that tribe, and where 
does Lovewell expect to overtake Paugus ? 

Sam. He ’ll be likely to overtake the tribe at the 


2/2 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Pond not far from this, where there are good fishing 
and hunting-grounds. ( Guns without .) 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Ah, whence that noise in the dis¬ 
tance ? ( Enter Campbell.) Oh, I am fearful. [Exit. 

Campbell. News, terrible news at hand. Paugus 
and his tribe are at the Pond, and as Lovewell was 
moving through the woods thither, they heard a gun 
and saw an Indian alone in the distance. Thereupon, 
they threw off their clothing, their packs and other 
equipage, and marched forth to discover the enemy. 
Lovewell moved after him, but advanced in the wrong 
direction. Now Paugus with his savages, taking ad¬ 
vantage of LovewelPs mistake, coming to his path, 
traced it back to their packs, and in ambush at length, 
laid in wait for Lovewell and his company. Yes, in¬ 
deed, and there’s a terrible battle. 

Sam. But what did Lovewell do to the lone Indian ? 

Campbell. As I have said, Lovewell descried the In¬ 
dian not far away, fired at, but missed him. The Indian, 
at once returning his fire, wounded Lovewell. Love¬ 
well, firing back again, killed the Indian, and scalped 
him; and now, the settlers having returned to their 
packs, there is a battle, a battle, a battle. Hark! 
(Guns exploding without, and the war-whoop cry and 
much noise.) [Martial music.] 

Scene III. — Same. Curtain rising discloses the fight; 
giuis exploding and the Indians and English driven from 
place to place, one after another in the cojfiict. Enter 
Campbell and Sagamore Sam. 

Campbell. See there ; Lovewell is disabled, yet he 
stands his ground valiantly (, gazing at the conflict, point¬ 
ing that way ). 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


273 


Sam. Oh see, see ! Paugus has fallen, and the cow¬ 
ardly rascals are flying away, away. (Much noise , yells, 
a?id cracking of musketry amid the bowlings and tumult 
of savages , answered by huzzaings from the English .) 

Campbell. The English are leaving the ground, and 
the savages, although badly beaten, still they will have 
a powwow. 

Sam. Yes! They’ll celebrate a victory, although 
they were the losers. English too, with their allies, 
in joyful song will rejoice, and will now join the friendly 
natives in their celebration. 

Campbell. Sad, sad, the story of LovewelPs last 
battle. He has lost his life, and all of his forty-six 
men, save that indomitable fourteen, who alone have 
remained to tell the story. Cheerily may they sing and 
give thanks, that all were not lost; and now, with their 
allies the Mohawks, they may bury their dead, and may 
rally for the fight at least once again. Yet will it be 
with sad hearts. [ Enter Ned.] Ah, Uncle Ned, how 
fare you ? And what now ? 

Uncle Ned. What was that you were saying (lifting 
his hand) ? 

Campbell (raising his voice). I say, what have you 
heard ? 

Uncle Ned. And faith, I hear all I can, and some¬ 
times a tarnal sight too much, and sometimes a mighty 
sight more than I want to hear, or that proves true. 
Now, a man up here in the woods has been telling me all 
about that last bloody fight of Lovewell’s with Paugus, 
and how them savages laid in ambush and surprised 
him; then how desperately they fought all day, and into 
the night; how Lovewell, after being wounded, killed 


274 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Paugus, and then how himself fell; and as how all the 
dead were left there at the Pond, upon the battle¬ 
ground, unscalped and unburied ; and how our Captain 
Tyng, with the friendly Mohawks, as they say, are going 
out to that battle-ground, and, as I am told, they are 
now about starting. Hark! can it be the Mohawks? 
(A great noise without of Indians, and a voice, “ We 7/ 
soon he away to the battle-groimd of PaugusI) Hark ! 
here indeed comes our captain and the Mohawks. 
(Music strikes. They e?iter, dancing and singing.) 

[Here the Mohawks have broken forth in song, and ?iow 
with hilarity they jump forth into a war-da?ice, repeat¬ 
ing} : — 

“ Seth Wyman, who in Woburn lived, 

A marksman he of courage true, 

Shot the first Indian whom he saw, 

And through his head the bullet threw. 

Chorus. — ‘ What means that dance, 

That powwow dance,’ 

Stern Wyman said; with wondrous art 
He creeps full near, his rifle aimed, 

And shoots the leader through the heart. 

“ The savage had been seeking game ; 

Two guns and eke a knife he bore, 

And two black ducks were in his hand, 

He shrieked, and fell to rise no more. 

Chorus. — ‘ What means that dance,’ etc. 

“ Anon these eighty Indians rose, 

Who’d hid themselves in ambush dread, 

Their knives they shook, their guns they aimed, 

The famous Paugus at their head. 

Chorus. — ‘ What means that dance,’ etc. 

“ Good heavens ! Is this a time to trust ? 

Is this a time to worship God? 

While Lovewell’s men are falling fast, 

Let tribes of Paugus feel the rod. 

Chorus. —‘ What means that dance,’ etc. 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 275 

[.Exeunt Mohawks. [Enter Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Uncle Ned. Captain Lovewell, they say, scalped one 
of the curses after he himself had been wounded ; and 
then the men proceeded to return to their packs. But 
Paugus and his#tribe were there beforehand, secretly 
awaiting them in ambush. And then the battle began 
and raged terribly. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, I have been hearing of this. 
Yes ; hence it was, as the song has it: — 

“ Fight on, fight on,” brave Lovewell said, 

“ Fight on while heaven shall give you breath.” 

An Indian ball then pierced him through, 

And Lovewell closed his eyes in death. 

Sad, so it is ! — 

“ And many a wife doth rend her hair, 

And many a child cries ‘ woe is me,’ 

Since messengers the news do bear, 

Of Lovewelhs dear-bought victory. 

Well may they dance the powwow dance, 

With horrid yells the forest fill; 

The bear shall hide within his den, 

The eagle seek the distant hill.” 

Uncle Ned. That battle was fearfully furious. The 
Indians in the fight roared ; yelling, barking like dogs, 
and howling like wolves. They made hideous noises. 
The emboldened English, in return, gave loud huzzas. 
They rallied bravely. 

Scene IV. — Same. Present Blind Bill and Ned. 

Uncle Ned. How are ye, Bill ? I Ve been listening 
to loud music, and true, the tribes may well be called 
sweet singers. We are out now from their midst, and 
may as well as not enjoy their hilarities. I should have 
been a great singer myself, but was spilt in being fin- 


276 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


ished ; and ye ’ll see the inside of my nasal organs 
was n’t hollowed out right. But Bill, what news ? 

Bill. They tell me, and me believe it, the cruel 
Indians have caught and carried away the two Starks, 
Amos Eastman, and David Stinson from Penacook. 

Uncle Ned. What do ye say ( bringing a hand to 
the ear ) ? Do ye report that my old friend John Stark is 
killed by the savages ? 

Bill. Oh, no; me no say it ( raising his voice'). Me 
say he be caught; they kidnapped him, and other set¬ 
tlers too. 

Uncle Ned. Where did they capture them ? 

Bill. Away up on the merry-make at Penacook. 
Have gone back with um, in the woods. That man 
Stark, he be noble, he be brave fellow. Has nice gal 
up there ; her name be Molly. Molly much worry that 
her John be taken. 

Uncle Ned. John Stark,* did ye say (raising his 
hand ) ? He’s a son of Billy Stark. 

Bill. Yea, they were out hunting on the Pemege- 
wasset. 

Uncle Ned. I’ve just been hearing how Stark and 
company have been caught by a tribe of ten, led by 
Moses. They seized John first, and then they waylaid 
the others at sunrise in the morning. The scamps 
killed Stinson, but John Stark will be too smart for um. 

Bill. Yes, they killed Stinson. 

U?icle Ned. Just like um. If I understand it, John’s 
good for um. He ’ll give um hallelujah at the butt 
eend of the poker. 

* This was the same John Stark, of Revolutionary fame, who in later 
years defeated Colonel Baum at the Battle of Bennington. 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


277 


Bill. Uncle Ned, me also hear that Colonel Tyng, 
of Dunstable, has enlisted the friendly Mohawks, and 
they are coming to join the English in going to the 
battle-ground up in the woods, at the pond. They are 
going there to take the scalps of Paugus and his tribe 
that lay dead there. [A noise without .] Hark! the 
Mohawks have not yet gone. They still linger for a 
powwow. They seek one before they depart into the 
woods to the battle-ground of the dead. ( Enter Mo¬ 
hawks, and they dance and sing in chorus : “ What means 

% 

that dance, that powwow dance,” etc.) [ Curtain. 

Scene V. — A woodla?id cot in Connecticut. Present, 
Jacob Spalding. Enter Bill, deerskin in hand, intoxi¬ 
cated. 

Bill. Jacob (hick) me want to sell you (hick) a deer¬ 
skin. 

Jacob. I will buy it of ye, Bill, if we can agree. 
How much do you claim for it ? 

Bill. ’T is (hick) a good one. Me wants much 
(hick) wampum for it. 

Jacob. I have no wampum, but I have a paper note, 
a tender-bill. This, Bill, I will give you for the deer¬ 
skin. It is good for six shillings cash.. ’T is good as 
money. 

Bill. Good (hick) as money or as (hick) wampum ? 

Jacob. Yes, good as gold (giving it to him). Now 
don’t you lose it. 

Bill. (Hick) All right. It’s (hick) a bargain ( taking 
it to his pocket). [Exit. Music. Re-enter Bill. 

Jacob. What now, Bill ? 

Bill. Me want (hick) me deer-skin. 


2 y8 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Jacob. Begone, ye drunken scalawag; I paid ye for 
the deerskin ; get out! 

Bill. Ye much (hick) liar. Ye be (hick) dishonest. 
Me ’ll (hick) tell the chief (hick) of it. Me chief, Saw- 
nup, will (hick) give ye a licking. Me 'll be (hick) re¬ 
venged, (hick), get out. (Exit. 

Scene VI. — (At a wigwam in the woods of Pena cook .) 
John Stark and Amos Eastman, captives, seated with 
Indian tribe on the ground. Lightfoot appears; the 
chief salutes him. 

Lightfoot. Me come for white man to ask chief to 
release captives—Stark and Eastman. White man 
would pay small ransom — not much money, some. 

Chief. Me no release um ; they worth big pile of 
money; white man no pay it. Stark be bra^e — Injun 
have sport with him. We be now ready. Will give 
him the gauntlet. Come, braves, (beckoning the tribes ) 
take places for the gauntlet. (The tribe obeys and ar¬ 
range thc?n selves in two files, facing each other. Stark at 
the word leafs through and throitgh between the files of 
men and squaws, who, with loud vociferations, pick up 
and throw brickbats at him, cs he passes on his rou?id, 
he occasionally and pugnaciously hitting the braves on the 
light a?id left as he runs .) 

Lightfoot (to the chief'). Now the gauntlet be run, 
me want answer. Will ye sell um ? Will ye sell Stark 
and Eastman to white man ? 

Chief. Oh nah, nah, nah. Me no sell um at all. 
Settler no give good price for um. 

Lightfoot. Then me will go tell him. 

Chief. Yea; tell him to send me twenty pounds in 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


279 


money, a bushel of seed corn, two gallons of rum, and 


twenty plugs of tobacco. 



Scene VII.— At Spalding's kitchen i)i Connecticut. 
Present , Jacob at his cot. E?iter Sawnup, the Saga??iore , 
attended by two Indian braves. 

Jacob. Well, chief, what now is wanted ? 

Chief. Me want pay for the deerskins, ye took away 
from Bill. 

Jacob. I paid Bill, and shall not pay him again. 

Chief. But ye no pay him at all; he says, you no 
pay him. We come to get pay for the deerskin, out of 
ye own hide. 

Jacob. Whatl three Injuns to fight one white man. 
Chief. Nah; two only, and that be my decision, my 
order; and that be just right. Braves! down upon him ! 
(.Here the two Indians rush upon him , but he knocks 
down each as he comes , each falling and recovering , and , 
again flooring them , he gives them both a drubbing.) 

Indian (rising up and turning to his Chief defloringly). 
I’d no idea of this. [ Enter Ned and Wrinkle. 

Chief. Me had n’t neither. Ye both be big cowards. 
Ye be nothing but women. Poor dogs ! poor dogs! 
Me wish he’d killed ye both. 


Scene VIII.— At Rumford, a kitchen. 


Uncle Ned. Well our distant neighbors are leaving 
us constantly, one after another; some by accident, 
some by fell disease, some by old age ; and many by the 
cruel, cursed savages. But Mrs. Wrinkle, please, if you 
know, what became of that farmer’s girl, Mehitable 
Johnson ? and that cousin of hers, Elizabeth Tobey ? 


28 o 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Mrs. Wrinkle. Liz is still at home with her mother ; 
and Mehitable, coming from the farm on a visit, is now 
at Tobey’s also. 

Uncle Ned. Does Liz get all the jewels she hankers 
after? all the equipage she wants to hang to her? 
That gal allays reminds me of an old squaw up in 
Quampegan, who, having but one pistereen, made a 
hole in it, and hung it right on to the tip eend of her 
nose, and wore it there. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh fie, Uncle Ned ! Liz, as you 
know, is young. Her father, Tobey, was an English¬ 
man of wealth when he came from beyond the seas. 
He has a plenty of money, and why not let Lizzie 
indulge a little. There are young men of high promise 
who often visit her father, and no wonder she dresses 
in superb style, and has the habit of hating all plain, 
vulgar, country habits. 

Uncle Ned. I can’t understand all ye say ( his hand 
up), but who are the young sprouts ye are talking 
about ? Are they fit to be married ? Have they 
houses or lands ? Or are they mere dandies that dress 
like dolls, and “ carry their characters on their backs ? ” 

Mrs. Wrinkle (raising her voice). They are likely, 
lovely young men, I can assure you. Fred Freeman, 
you know him. He, though poor, is an intelligent 
young lawyer. Law, you know, leads to honor, and 
sometimes to wealth. And there is Major Mack, he, as 
they talk, was born wealthy, is rich in houses, horses, 
and lands. These two are among the admirers of 
Liz. 

Uncle Ned. I haven’t heered all , but have heered 
enough. Wh.at you say may be all true. But, let me 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


28l 


tell ye, no wise boy of any means will ever want such 
a companion as that Liz Tobey. No man of wit will 
want a wife who has been bred in idleness as she has 
been. Idleness is sin. To be a drone, living on the 
labors of others, is to be miserable in life. No axiom 
is more true : the gods never favor anybody, save those 
who labor. [Exit Wrinkle.] But who comes ? [Enter 

Mrs. Tobey.] Oh, it is you, yourself. Well, Mrs. 
Tobey, we’ve been talking about the gals. How are 
your daughters, and how is the young Mehitable ? Since 
she came from the country, how do our Rumford fash¬ 
ions agree with her ? Mehitable, as you know, used to 
be the gal who, as I judged, would become a queen of 
some household. I mean a woman worth having — 
not a mere butterfly, but a lady; such as a man that is a 
man would want for a wife. 

Mrs. Tobey. As to myself I do not welcome young 
men as visitors who have no wealth.. They who grovel 
in poverty may sometimes succeed as fortune-hunters, 
but [turning in disdaiii\ not within my doors. You in¬ 
quire for my family, sir; Mehitable was not one of my 
girls, you know. She was brought up in the country 
upon a farm, and having been accustomed to menial 
service, she is quite slow to forget her country habits, 
which our ladies of fashion regard as being decidedly 
vulgar. My Elizabeth, as you know, not having been 
accustomed to the drudgery of chamber or kitchen, is 
very different. Unlike Mehitable, she belongs to fash¬ 
ionable society, loves leisure, and follows the fashions 
of dress, propriety, and decorum. 

, Uncle Ned. Fashions, did ye say? Why should she 
care for fashions? Instead of fashions give her our 


282 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


good old country common sense, if you would prepare 
her to enjoy life’s comforts. Go in for industrial eco¬ 
nomical labor, and in that she shall find pleasure. 
Have no outside, put-up jobs about it. Go in, indepen¬ 
dently, neck or nothing. Who do you think I saw 
yesterday up town ? 

Mrs. Tobcy . Indeed, uncle, whom did you see ? 

Uncle Ned. I saw Sal Strout with all her goods and 
chattels hanging about her; her left hand is always 
uppermost by reason of the gilded pewter that clings to 
her fingers. ’T was much like this (raising his jinge? 
adorned with a huge ring.) [.Exit Ned. Enter Fred 
Freeman and Major Mack at opposite doors .] 

Mrs. Tobey. Ah, gents (ringing a bell ) ! It is long 
since we had the pleasure of a call on you, Mr. Free¬ 
man and Mr. Mack. I presume you have been quite 
busily occupied of late, as we have not so often seen 
you. How do you prosper, sir ? I trust your good 
friends and elegant horses are all in vigorous condi¬ 
tion. 

Mack. Very true, madam. All in good health. 

Mrs. Tobey. And you, Mr. Freeman, as I suppose, 
are still in pursuit of the law. How long since you 
completed your studies, and how are you progressing ? 

Fred. It has been about a year. I am now advanc¬ 
ing with a tolerable success. How are your daughters ? 
and how is the industrious Mehitable ? 

Mrs. Tobey. They are very well, sir. They will be 
in soon. I have called them. [Enter Mehitable, 
greeting the guests.] Yes, here is Mehitable. It takes 
Elizabeth longer to arrange her toilet. 

[Enter Liz, greeting the guests. 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


283 


Liz. Mr. Freeman, we are very much pleased to be 
able to greet you once again. The hours have seemed 
long since your last call. 

Fred. Yes: but you will excuse my long delays, 
remembering the hinderances that beset a professional 
life. 

Liz. And you, Major Mack, as I hope are still enjoy¬ 
ing your health and prosperity. 

Mack. Thank you. I still try to make progress. 
I think we may all be made better by laudable efforts 
to an advancement. Now Lizzie, will you please enter¬ 
tain us with a song ? 

Liz. (indifferently ). My music is not here, sir, and I 
am troubled somewhat with a cold. Excuse me, please 
(turning to Fred Freeman). 

Mrs. Tobey. Major Mack, please excuse Elizabeth ; 
she is quite hoarse. 

Mack. Well, then, Miss Mehitable, the music is left 
to you. What say you for a song ? 

Mehitable. Major, I fear my music, old-fashioned, 
may fail to please you. 

Mack. Oh, never mind; we will take that risk. 

Mehitable {with music , sings) : — 

ROY’S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH. 

“ Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch, 

Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch, 

Wot ye how she chated me ? 

As I came o’er the braes of Balloch.” 

{Repeating the above as a chorus .) 

(Meanwhile Fred ’ listening, moves nearer complimenting 
the perf 0 nuance with applause) [ Music. 


284 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Scene VIII. — Same. Present , Liz and Mrs. Tobey. 

Liz. Mother, why do you treat Major Mack with so 
much attention. If you flatter yourself that I shall 
ever select him as a partner with his awkward appear¬ 
ance, you will greatly mistake. Let him possess an 
estate ever so large, I could never endure his presence. 
If Fred Freeman had as much property, oh, how grand 
that would be. Then I would welcome him; and then 
all would be lovely. 

Mrs. Tobey. You ought to remember, Elizabeth, 
that the wife of Major Mack would preside at the head 
of a lordly establishment. She would be adorned with 
diamonds, and other jewels, to the very height of the 
fashion. 

Liz. All these accommodations are very fine. But 
to be tied up for life with so vulgar a personage as your 
rich major, to me it would be horrible. It would be 
worse than menial service itself, which any lady of 
fashion would avoid and [ disdainfully ] detest. Oh, 
how nice it would be, if Fred had a fortune like the 
Major. 

Mrs. Tobey {breakingin?) '{Enter Mehitable.] Eliza¬ 
beth you talk very improperly. Fred never can be any¬ 
thing to you but a common acquaintance. True his is 
a youth of good manners, but of no estate. Beware as 
to how you talk or think of him. Only think of your 
becoming mistress of a family, with only one hired 
servant in it; to be obliged yourself to visit the market, 
to dust your own parlor, and generally to superintend 
your own affairs. And then when your husband comes 
home at night, he in his poverty must be busied upon 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 285 

his hateful briefs in one corner, and you at work mend¬ 
ing old clothing in another. [Exit Liz. 

Mehitable . My dear aunt, if your Elizabeth really 
loved Fred as her husband, would not the work you 
name be pleasant to her. I am unable to see anything 
degrading in the duteous services you have named. 
Would she not desire to do it as a privilege, for one 
on whom she depends and loves ? Surely would not 
true affection invigorate such industrious services into 
healthy, lovely, and nobler aspirations. 

Mrs. Tobey. Mehitable, I perceive you [Enter Liz], 
in your experience, are becoming quite sentimental. 
But you ought to know, that work would be degrading 
to my Elizabeth in the extreme. Fred might suit your 
requirement, but could never supply her demands. 

[Exit, vexed. 

Liz. Old women go in for horses, for houses, and 
lands. I go in for love and leisure, and nothing to do. 
Now, Cousin Mehitable, tell me truly, tell me if you 
think Major Mack would be even tolerable, for a 
husband ? 

Mehitable. Liz, I would n’t care for wealth as you 
do. Indeed, I would rather care to be independent of 
the wealth of others. I would prefer to be the author 
of my own livelihood, the originator of my own fortune. 
A fortune obtained through my own abilities to ac¬ 
quire it, to me would be worth a thousand borrowed 
ones. Duteous industry, exercised in the obtaining of a 
livelihood, would ever bring to life, comfort and satis¬ 
faction. I would dislike to be owned as a chattel, or 
to be worshipped as such. On my own gifts of God, 
and on my own gams through a duteous labor and econ- 


286 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


omy, let me, as one of his creatures, stand or fall. 
Major Mack has a fortune already earned, and in 
person he seems quite respectable. 

Liz. Respectable, that may be; yet how could I 
endure such a man, riches or no riches, wealth or no 
wealth? And as to Fred Freeman, he is as poor as a 
March rabbit. Although I intend to live without labor, 
and must have wealth and splendor, 1 shall never fancy 
such a numb-head as Mack is, to share it with me. 

Mehitable. Why, not, then make the common daily 
duties and exercises of life a pleasure ? Drudgery be¬ 
longs to the sluggard; it rarely can be oppressive to a 
vigilant, active mind. Now, if you really love Fred, 
why not marry him ? Why not be willing to share with 
him his fortune and fame, whether in wealth or in 
poverty. Your kind offices thus bestowed would be 
shared by yourself ; it would encourage his manliness, 
and would not fail to bring to the household a corre¬ 
sponding delight. 

Liz. You know, Mehitable, I am independent, and, 
as mother tells me, I was never born to be a slave. 

{Exit. Enter Uncle Ned. 

Mehitable (at her duties). We’ve just been thinking 
of you, Uncle Ned. 

Uncle Ned. What do ye say ? Thinking of me. 
The gals are allers a thinking of me. They’ve been so 
persistent in their loves and love-pats, that sometimes 
I’ve been obliged to wear a mustache made out of a 
coonskin to keep the ravenous critters at a distance. 
So many on um 1 can’t be of “ no use to um, nohow.” 
Sal Strout, you know her ? The widow, I mean. 

Mehitable. Yes, I know of her. 


CIIOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


287 


Uncle Ned {confidingly). Wahl, don’t ye believe, she’s 
threatened to sue me for a breach of promise. But 
never mind, don’t ye tell on’t. If I can, I am agwine 
to settle it with her. Don’t name it. I would n’t have 
my old woman — no, I would n’t have Huldah to know 
about it, for all the whole town of Hardscrabble. 
Enter Liz.] But here’s Liz. Lady, what do ye think 
of Mehitable ? You see she’s always to work ; ye never 
see her idle. Don’t tell on’t, I have taken a mighty 
great liking to that gal. ’T is a shine, as they call it. 

Liz (aside). Ah, how tiresome all this talk is. Yet 
deliver me from being doomed to the darning of old 
stockings, or the washing of dishes. I fancy I am 
bound to enjoy a much more agreeable occupation. 

Uncle Ned. Mehitable, I saw you out to-day on the 
hills taking sketches. ’T is right good for ye to breathe 
the mountain air. I ’ll tell ye what, a wood-nymph 
takes solid comfort. And I see the mountains have 
painted the genuine colors of health upon that counte¬ 
nance you carry with ye. Yes Mehitable, you are 
young. Let me admonish ye. I believe in an honest 
heart like your’n ; and in true love — love of the old- 
fashioned kind — such as was common in my own boy¬ 
hood : — 

At a time on memory’s page, 

When children paid respect to age, 

When the man was always saint or sage, 

And women made the matches ; 

Wealth then a beau could never catch, 

And love it was that lit the match. 

Liz, what makes ye look so pale. Come, cheer up. 
To-day I have just heard great news. 

Liz. What is that ? 


288 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Uncle Ned. Why, I’ve been told that Sam Simpson, 
that old miser who lived down in Hardscrabble, is 
dead. 

Liz (earnest and aloud). Indeed, is it true ? And 
wasn’t he the grandfather of Fred Freeman ? 

Uncle Ned. Faith, and he was; and it will turn out 
that his whole estate descends to Fred. And to so 
young a lawyer as Fred it is a mighty great windfall. 
’T will give Fred wealth, if not wisdom. In fact, Fred 
is to inherit all the lands which that old miserly curse 
cheated out of the Injuns. Fred takes all his money, 
takes Pig Lane, half of the parish at Hardscrabble, 
including all the huckleberry plains; and besides he 
inherits all the old man’s interest in the great goose- 
pasture down at Sligo. Now gals, Fred is the beau for 
ye; he ’ll be worth having. Hurrah, now, for a trial. 
Who is to be the lucky gal ? 

Liz (haughtily ). Ah, that is a question easily to be 
answered ( tossing her head high). There will be no 
great contest on that score, I fancy. A gentleman of 
Fred’s wealth and rank would hardly look below his 
own dignity, below his own station in society, for a wife. 
Of course, he will act up to the dignity of his wealth. 
He will never select a low, ordinary worker for his life 
companion. Oh no, not he. [ Exit contemptuously. 

Uncle Ned {aside). Wal; her cap sets high to-night. 
I wonder how it will set to-morrow ? [ Curtain. 

Scene IX.— Same. Enter Sagamore Sam. Pres¬ 
ent, Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Sam. Since I was here news hath come to the Colony 
at Boston that Colonel Tyng and his fifty men, having 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 289 

arrived at the pond at Pequawket, obtained the scalps 
of Paugus and his men, have buried um, all the dead 
ones, in LovewelPs battle-ground ; and that the Colonel 
and his men have all safely returned. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. That’s right, let um return. They 
are quite lucky, — lucky to get back unscalped. But 
have ye heard; do ye hear how (as they say) Chocorua 
is meditating death on the Campbells, on account of the 
loss of that boy. He has long distrusted that family of 
Campbells; has been seen lurking about that white 
man’s cot suspiciously. My word for it, he has it in his 
heart that they poisoned his boy. Oh, if this be true, 
woe, woe, is to be upon them, and upon their dear chil¬ 
dren, if not upon us all ! 

[A cry of murder and of wailings without , and soon the 
curtain rises in the rear, unveiling Chocorua , with toma¬ 
hawk , dashing this way and that , seeking to escape. A 
shot comes at him from without , but he escapes .] 

[A Dirge.\ 

[A slide , moving , unveils the family as slain .] 

Uncle Ned. Oh, murder, murder ! Where can he be ? 
Where has that old rascal of a murderer gone to ? 
Guess they hit him ! Guess he’s wounded ! Suppose 
the Campbells did pison his boy, he hadn’t the ghost of 
a right to murder that whole family. Our settlers will 
follow ; they ’ll hunt him down. They ’ll chase him by 
scores. Fled away, most likely. He ’ll take to the 
mountains. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, what cruelties! what conster¬ 
nation our English settlers are having! Indeed, what 
atrocities, what terrible heart-rendings are fast coming 
to pass amongst us ! They ’ll hunt Chocorua, and the 


290 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Lord, the Lord only knows how many more will be 
murdered before this matter comes to an end. But who 
are these ? 

[.Enter Liz and Mehitable, breathless. 

Liz. I’ve been away on a ramble, following Mehita¬ 
ble ; and I am tired and frightened all but to death. 
We’ve heard the bay of hounds in the forest, have seen 
men running hither and thither, and have heard frequent 
discharges of musketry. We’ve made home here upon 
the run, and it does seem as if I should never, never 
recover my breath. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Liz, don’t you know it? the English 
have gone in pursuit after that dreadful old Chocorua, 
who’s murdered the Campbells. 

Mehitable (^breakingin). O Lizzie, can it not be pos¬ 
sible that your dear friend, Fred, has joined the com¬ 
pany, and gone off in the dangerous pursuit after that 
old chief ? 

Liz. Indeed, I cannot think Fred would be so for¬ 
getful of me, and of my feelings, as to thus hazard his 
life without notice to us of his departure. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Ah, Lizzie, you will find that a heroic 
young man like Fred would never wait for ceremonies, 
if summoned upon an emergency like the one which has 
brought grief and sorrow upon these settlements. [. Enter 
Fred.] But here he returns. Fred, we’ve just been 
speaking of you, and have been fearing for your 
safety. 

Fred. I started off with our settlers. We divided 
into bands ; one was to go and return by the way of the 
lake, others were to traverse the woods and the moun¬ 
tain cliffs, and drive the savages from thence. And, lest 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


29I 


that old fox should take the back track, to evade his 
pursuers, it has been thought best for me to be here, to 
give the alarm should he attempt to hide himself under 
these mountains, nearer home. The scouts are in hot 
pursuit, moving in all directions. 

Liz (in flounced fantastic dress). O my dear Fred, 
remain here ; don’t venture any further. Remain here 
with us. We need your protection, and there are a 
plenty of settlers in the woods, who will hunt out the 
old chief. 

Mehitable . Yes, Mr. Freeman, take Lizzie’s advice. 
Rest yourself, and gain strength for the advance to-mor¬ 
row, if the hunt of to-day does not succeed. 

[Enter Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Fred. My dear ladies, I cannot see how I can well 
refuse your kind invitation to remain here a while. But 
will you appease our excited minds by the use of a 
song ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, Mehitable ; that means you. 

Fred. Yes, Miss Mehitable, you are the queen of 
song, they say, as well as of duteous industry. Please 
entertain us with a song. Oh, yes (rising up), a song. 

Mehitable. I fear my simple music may not please 
you, §ir. Would a Scotch ballad be agreeable to you ? 

Fred. Oh, yes. 

Mehitable (sings). 


ANNIE LAURIE. 

“ Maxwelton’s banks are bonnie, where early falls the dew, 

And’t was there that Annie Laurie gave me her promise true, 
Gave me her promise true, and ne’er forget will I, 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I’d lay me down and die. 


292 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Her brow is like the snaw-drift, her neck is like the swan ; 

Her face it is the fairest that e'er the sun shone on ; 

That e’er the sun shone on, and dark blue is her eye: 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I ’d lay me down and die. 

Like dew on the gowans lying, is the fa’ of her fairy feet, 

And like winds in summer sighing, her voice is low and sweet; 

Her voice is low and sweet, she’s a’ the world to me, 

And for bonnie Annie Laurie I’d lay me down and dee.”* 

(Meanwhile Fred ’ attracted nearer to the music, seems 
entranced; whence Liz, in disgust , contemptuously ?'etires, 
leaving the lovers alone, full in the faith of economical 
industry and connubial^felicity .) 

[Curtain slow falling .] 

♦ 

* Written by Douglas of Finland, about the year 1685. Annie was the 
daughter of Sir Robert Laurie. Annie afterwards became the wife of a 
Mr. Ferguson of Craig-darroch. 

See a Ballad Book [printed in Edinburgh in 1824], page 107. Some of 
the words, to be more clearly understood by an American audience, are here 
printed in English. 


ACT III. 


Scene I. — Tents on the Shore of the Winnefiisseog.ee. 

Presejit Mrs. Wrinkle a?id Uncle Ned. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. It’s all up now, Uncle Ned. The 
Lord only knows how many more of us are to be mur¬ 
dered before this conflict comes to an eend. And what 
are we agwine to do ? 

Uncle Ned {agitated). What the devil’s the use, old 
lady, in being always fussing about these deeds of blood, 
which happen to us every day. A mighty sight you’d 
better be seeking repentance of your sins, than to be 
forever brooding over life’s troublesome trespasses, with 
that treacherous tongue of yourn. Yr tongue is hung 
right in the middle on’t, and it goes clap, clap, clapping 
at both eends. {Enter Blind Bill. 

\Chocorua fiasses through , stealthily. An alarm is 
raised without. A slide unveils a scene in the woods , — a 
cot and a garrison , with settlers at the doors , armed vari¬ 
ously, on tip-toe for pursuit of him.\ 

Bill. The murderer ! ’t is the murderer! Which way 
did he go ? 

Uncle Ned. Go, did ye say ? He’s gone back from 
the lake shore. Ye ’ll find him hid in the dark forest, 
or in some ravine behind the rocks, or climbing the 
cliffs; or perhaps you ’ll be able to shoot him, still lurk¬ 
ing under the brow of the mountain. Up, and be going! 

2 93 






294 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Hunt him out! hunt him out! But see to it that, from 
hidden ambush, he, or others, don’t thrust ye through 
with arrows. ( Pointing the way.) You go this way, 
you go that way, over the highlands, northward; we, 
the rest of us, will linger along the shore of the lake. 
He’s an old fox; when ye start him he may return, tak¬ 
ing the back track. Haste, now, and away! (All 
answering at o?ice.) Yes, we’ll away! (and they dash 
away , vociferating, “ Wedl hunt him! We'll have 
him /”) [Enter Mrs. Wrinkle. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, how terrible, terrible was that 
murder of the Campbells. Not a soul of them, save 
the father, who was away, now lives ! Oh, what dread¬ 
ful cruelty lurks and rankles in the unholy heart of 
a savage ! 

Uncle Ned. But I suppose ’tis true that Chocorua’s 
boy died of pison. The old chief thought the lad had 
been pisoned a purpose, by the Campbells. Chocorua 
was dreamy enough to believe they had murdered the 
boy; so it bewildered his mind. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, but after all I do not imagine 
they intended any wrong to the lad. His being poisoned 
was, perhaps, nothing more than a sad accident, long to 
be deplored. But as against such impetuous barbarity, 
there seems to be no end, no respite, no relief to our 
hopeless, suffering settlements. 

[Chocorua passes through , dodging this way and that , 
and yells are again heard in the forest , by the English in 
fervent pursuit .] 

Uncle Ned. They are on the wake. They are pur¬ 
suing the old curse. They are up and coming. He’s 
got the start on urn, yet they ’ll settle him. They ’ll 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 295 

have his pelt! Wonder how much money they ’ll get 
for it in Boston ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Oh, you don’t know what a bloody 
hunt they are making against that old murderous chief. 
They went past old Nathan’s garrison but a little time 
ago, sabres and firelocks in hand, upon the clean run, 
in the chase. The)' - were following, driving southward 
towards the lake. ( Loudly. ) But Sam says the culprit 
had skulked off t’other way, towards the great mountain. 

Uncle Ned. I don’t believe he ’ll take to a distance, 
at all. He’s a coy fox. As he’s wont, he ’ll be sure to 
evade the hounds. He ’ll take the back track, I guess. 
They ’re well armed, and they’ve taken Bickford’s spot¬ 
ted dog with um. He’s a hound of the first water. If 
he gets hold behind — if he gets hokl of the slack — 
he ’ll hold, till the cows come home. He’s like old 
Captain Stick-to-um ; he’s a hero in the rear. ( Strange 
noises and the tooting of horns without. ) Who, what’s 
all that ? Hunters in pursuit ? He ’ll dodge into some 
hiding-place in the mountain. Ho for the hunters! 
they ’re on his track ! Who, — what’s that ? 

[In the distance a hooting vociferously, and sounding of 
horns in the pursuit .] 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes, they are gdod hunters. They 
are teasing him ! They ’re on his track ! 

[Still the outcry, the sojmding of horns, and the barking 
of hounds.\ 

Uncle Ned. Heigh-ho ! he’s sneaking away. I see 
him, I guess I see him in the distance. They are after 
him, but he ’ll take the back track. He’s a cunning old 
fox. But the king’s forces are in the wake of him. 
They are in for him, straight atter him. Oh, they’re 


296 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


mad, and they may well be mad. They ’ll drive him out 
of the forest, straight down, down, down to — to h—11, 
I hope. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. How sad, sad this is, that the dear 
Keoka, Chocorua’s squaw, fell at the first by a pining 
disease, and that, after they buried her, under the logs 
yonder, not far away, her dear, beautiful boy soon fol¬ 
lowed her by a secret, deadly poison. Then, as if some 
evil spirit had ordered it, Chocorua, as ye’ve seen, 
suspecting the Campbells as having poisoned his son, 
hath secretly, brutally murdered the whole family. 
Campbell himself then being away, hath now turned to 
the track, and, with Englishmen and hounds and weap¬ 
ons of death, they are all on the alert for Chocorua’s 
life. ( Loudly to Uncle Ned. ) Oh dear, dear, what shall 
become of us amid all these terrible, terrible scenes of 
death. 

Uncle Ned (aside). Scared to death, old Aunt Betty 
Wrinkle, — that’s you, and no mistake,—always being 
begrieved, and allers grieving. There’s no use in 
dying because all the t’others are dead. My love for my 
poor relations is profoundly sincere. But what’s the 
need of caving in ? Now I don’t propose to skedaddle ; 
no, not till I get due notice from headquarters. You 
may run, Mrs. Wrinkle, you may run, but I — I — I 
— won’t. (Exit Mrs. Wrinkle. 

(Fro?n without , “ News, news of a battle ! ”) 

[Enter Sagamore Sam. 

Sam. Uncle Ned, have ye heard of it ? There’s 
been a battle, a bloody battle at Norridgewock. The 
English, under Moulton and Harmon, have invaded the 
Abenakies, have assailed and slain Mogg, and have 



CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


297 


murdered that old missionary, Ralle, who had encour¬ 
aged the Indians. The English assailed the castle, took 
his scalp, and put all his tribes to flight. 

Uncle Ned. What is that ye say (holding- his ha?id y 
listening). 

Sam. They’ve slain that old missionary, Ralle. 

Uncle Ned. Wal; that’s great news. Enough for 
to-day. Wonder how much pewter they ’ll get paid for 
the scalp of a missionary ? Indeed, they ’ll have extra 
for that, and they ’ll be entitled to it. Sure, the scalp 
of a head as mellow and as wicked as Ralle’s was, will 
never be a drug in the Puritan market. I reckon 
’t will be just about equal to a coon-skin, half-tanned. 

[Curtain l\ 

Scene II. — Same. At the brow of Chocorua Moun¬ 
tain. 

Outsiders (exclaiming). Oh, there he is, there he is on 
he crag ; jump off there ! (Barking of dogs without.) 

Chocorua (from the crag , answering). The Great 
Spirit gave Chocorua his life, and he ’ll not throw it 
away for the white man. (Musket shots are heard from 
without; at length curtain rises unveiling Chocorua wound- 
ed, cursing , and settlers with firelocks and other weapons , 
who had followed m pursuit of him.) 

Chocorua. Curse on yr living ! Curse on yr dead ! 
Yr warpath, let it lay in snares ! Blast, blast yr fields 
in frost and tares! Pestilence eternal, on all yr heads 
infernal! Ye killed my boy; me too ye’ve slain ! Let 
devils deride ye, torture ye, damn and detest ye! 
[Enter Mrs. Wrinkle.] ( Staggering , he swoons and 
falls.) [Dirge. 


298 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Scene III.— Same. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. O Lord have mercy, mercy on our 
afflicted English settlers. God only knows what trou¬ 
bles, what trials, what dearths, and what deaths shall 
henceforth follow on to us. The dread vengeance cf 
Heaven, which has been evoked upon the heads of our 
own race, in this our New England, is threatening us* 
Oh, I fear, I fear it, near at hand. \E?iter Robinhood.] 
And here comes our native soothsayer, the interpreter. 
Oh tell us, tell us, Robinhood. What, what is to come 
next, from all, all these signs ? 

Robinhood. Signs ; signs there be. Sure signs, from 
the Great Spirit they come. Me see um; me that 
can hold converse with the dead ; me that can foretell 
events, ye ask me questions. Me that can take the 
rattlesnake in the hand without harm ( holding a sjiake) ; 
me that can have talk and help from the Great Spirit, 
do ye ask me ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yea; what mean all these gloomy 
signs ? 

Robmhood. You mean this strangeness in the sky, 
in the cloud, in the air, and in the earth ? 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes. 

Veiled now in sackcloth stands the sun, 

The Indian hunter’s day is done, 

In these New England borders ; 

Robinh 00 d. Indeed 

A deadly shaft his heart had broken, 

High in the cloud the fates betoken, 

Unwonted, strange disorders. 




THE CONJUROR 









CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


299 


Mrs. Wrinkle. But what the clangers ? what are the 
disorders to be ? 

Robmhood. Ah, they be none other than that which 
the Great Sagamore hath called out. Such as be seen 
in the warpath when the wrath of the Great Spirit have 
come, and the lightnings above have flashed over it 
with fiery fagots. (Thunders in the distance mutter .] 
Ah, Abamoco have heard the great chief. His voice 
there, his vengeance still there ( pointing his finger) com¬ 
ing in the cloud {stillpointing), away up yonder. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. But tell us, Robinhood, whence this 
power in the old chief, now that he is dead, to bring 
dismay ? Whence these threatenings which create 
painful fearfulness in the midst of these our lonely 
settlements, and all along beneath yonder bleak moun 
tain. 

Robinhood. Me no tell ye more {winds whistle, a 
tempest, and thunders mutter). Me have told it; me 
see it (pointing, gesticulating). Abamoco noisy; Aba¬ 
moco mad. He’s in the sky; he’s in the pisoned, 
putrid air; in the cloud. Yes,’t is Chocorua’s curse 
(rattlings ofi hail, lightnings, and thunder). His curse 
upon the white man comes. (A slide moving unveils 
poisoned, frost-bitten, blighted fields, pale, and sickly 
trees, a?id vegetation, lean, decrepit cattle, sheep and horses 
moping in despair). 

Robmhood. Ah, it be so — a curse, a curse upon 
ye. Me told ye of it. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. You ought to have been there and 
heard Chocorua in all he told to the English. So loud 
he cursed them. Hark! (Hoarsely behind the curtain , 
and but little seen, a ghost appearsl) 


300 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Chocorua's ghost. 

Vile, heartless knaves, ye killed my boy, 

My own Keoka’s only joy, 

E’er in the grave she rested; 

By deadly drugs laid low he died, 

Me too ye’ve slain, let devils deride, 

Ye tortured, damned, detested. 

Mrs. Wrinkle (the sce?ic darkens'). Oh, a ghost and a 
curse, the curse of Chocorua. — How dark it is ! 
There’s a chill in the air ; there’s frost in these veins. 
Hark ! those accents are fearful. Though unseen, 
indeed, it is the ghost of Chocorua. 

Ghost. 

The moping owl hath ceased to hoot, 

The scrub-oak falters at the root, 

And the snail is lank and weary; 

The fated fawn hath found his bed, 

Huge hawks high up have fallen dead 
Adown the apex dreary. 

Rohinhood. Indeed, Mrs. Wrinkle, this is the curse 
of Chocorua. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Yes. 

Fated, the fields no fruits adorn, 

The hills are pale with poisoned corn, 

The flocks are lean, repining ; 

No growth the panting pastures yield, 

And the staggering cattle roam the held, 

Forlorn, in death reclining. 

Robinhood. Me be necromancer; me told ye’t would 
be so. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. Indeed, so it is, so it is, as’t is said. 

Thus are we made the slaves of earth, 

Mope in miasmas, deep in dearth, 

Sad from some bad beginning; 


CHOCORUA IN THE MOUNTAINS. 


301 


From cruelty to friend or foes, 

These morbid pains and mental woes, 

Prove but the pangs of sinning. 

Search now for the flower, not one is known, 
The maple leaf is dry half grown, 

And death is in the fountains. 

(Lifting both hands.) 

O God, forgive our Saxon race, 

Blot from thy book, no more to trace, 
Fraternal wrath infernal; 

That taints the atmosphere we breathe, 

The sky above, and earth beneath, 

With dearth, and death eternal. 


Uncle Ned. Yea, oh yea, ’t is here ; Chocorua’s curse. 
The curse is here, and a devil of a curse it is. 

Mrs. Wrinkle. 

High now a voice is in the air, 

As if Chocorua still were there, 

With wood-nymphs wild attending; 

Hark! hear it afar on the mountain side, 

The plaint of earth’s down-trodden tribe, 

Bleak with the azure blending. 

(Mounds in the dista?ice.) 

Uncle Ned. 

Come boys, we ’ll take our tents away, 

To better vales, ’t is break of day, 

The hounds are awake for duty; 

Blow, blow the horn ! a gracious sun 
Hath brought a brotherhood begun, 

In life, in love, and beauty. 

[1 Curtain desce?ids amid the blowing of horns ? answered 
by the dogs.) 




BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 

PRIMEVAL, MODERN, AND PROGRESSIVE. 

In “Jossely’s Voyages to New England” he says: 
“ Prince Philip, a little before I came from England to 
Boston, in 1671, had a coat on and buskins set with 
beads (wampum), in pleasant, wild works, and a broad 
belt of the same. His accoutrements were valued at 
twenty dollars.” 

Mrs. Rowlandson, as a captive, discoursing of Quin- 
napin, her late master, says, — 

“ Quinnapin was dressed in a Holland shirt, with 
great stockings, his garters hanging around with shil¬ 
lings, and with girdles of wampum upon the head and 
shoulders.” 

That Weetamoo (for a dance) “ was dressed in a ker¬ 
sey coat, covered with girdles of wampum from the 
loins upward; that her arms, from the elbow to her 
hands, were covered with bracelets; had handfuls of 
necklaces about her neck, and several sorts of jewels in 
her ears. She had on red stockings, white shoes, her 
hair powdered, and face painted red, which always be¬ 
fore was black. That all the other dancers were dressed 
after the same manner.” 


303 



304 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


“ Usually the dress of the women consisted of two 
articles; a leather shirt, or undergarment, ornamented 
with a fringe, and a shirt of the same material, fastened 
around the waist with a belt, and reaching to the feet. 
Their hair they dressed in thick, heavy plait, which fell 
down upon the neck. They sometimes ornamented 
their heads with wampum, or with a small cap.” 

MUSIC OF THE MOHAWKS. 

“ At a dance, sometimes, there were two ” outsiders, 
“ singing for the dancers, and playing upon a kettle, 
sometimes hopping up and down, sometimes taking a 
drink of warm water at the fireside, and now and then 
throwing out a compliment of wampum to the by¬ 
standers.” 

INDIANS MEETING THE PILGRIMS, 

1622. 

Every man of them, it is said, was clothed in a deer¬ 
skin, and the principal of them had a wild-cat skin, or 
such like, on one arm. 

Most of them had long “ hozen ” up to their groins, 
close made, and about their groins another of leather. 
These, altogether, were like the Irish trousers. 

COMPLEXION. 

“ Their appearance was like our English Gypsies. 
No hair, or very little, on their faces. On their heads 
long hair to their shoulders,” cut only on the forehead. 
Some, however, were trussed up before, with a feather, 
broadwise, like a fan. One had a fox-tail hanging out. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


305 


Their bows and arrows were not always kept with 
them. They sang and danced to the Pilgrims, after 
their manner, like antics. 

Philip’s belts. 

After the killing of King Philip, in 1676, it is said, 
Annawon, one of his men, meeting Captain Church, ad¬ 
dressed him thus : “ I believe me and my company are 
the last that war against the English ; so I suppose the 
war is ended by your means. Therefore ” (from a pack) 
“ I give ye this belt, beautifully embroidered, which be¬ 
longed to King Philip.” “ It was nine inches in breadth, 
and of such length as when put about the shoulders of 
Church it reached to his ankles.” “ It was reckoned 
to be of great value, being embroidered all over with 
money, that is, wampumpeag of various colors, curi¬ 
ously wrought into figures of birds, beasts, and flowers.” 

Philip had another “belt, with which he used to orna¬ 
ment his head, from the back part of which flowed two 
flags, which decorated his back; and then there was a 
small one, with a star upon the end of it, which he wore 
upon his breast. All three,” it is said, “were edged 
with red hair, and were obtained from the Mohawks. 

INDIAN TASTE. 

The natives are noted for their strong propensity to 
gorgeous personal ornaments. But now, in civilized 
life, all show of wealth is to be regarded as vulgar. It 
is related of an Indian squaw, although otherwise pen¬ 
niless, having but one pistareen she put a hole through 
it, and hung it to the end of her nose, as an ornament. 





3°6 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


INDIAN MONEY. 

It appears that “ the English merchant giveth them 
(the Indians) ten shillings a fathom for their white, and 
as much more, or near upon, for their blue beads.” 
“These beads are their money. Of these there are 
two sorts, blue beads and white beads. The first is 
their gold , and the last is their silver. This money they 
work out of certain shells.” “They grind the shell 
upon stone, so cunningly that neither Jew nor devil 
can counterfeit it.” They drill the beads at the size of 
a pipe-stem, and four or five of them make an inch. 
They string them, and make curious works with them 
to adorn the persons of their sagamores and young 
women, such as belts, girdles, tablets, borders for their 
women’s hair, bracelets, necklaces, and links to hang in 
their ears.” As money, it is called wampum; some¬ 
times “ peak.” 

INDIAN HABITS AND CUSTOMS. 

Indians, as did all other nations of the earth in the 
beginning, roam in tribes. Mere hunters and wander¬ 
ers, they, from day to day, seek a livelihood at the sea¬ 
shore, on the lakes and rivers, and in the wilderness, 
where the salmon or the shad, or the beast or the bird, 
may best be found to supply their constant cravings. 
Their labor is but little, and that labor is, for the most 
part, performed by the women. They never had any 
written history prior to the advent of our Pilgrims. 
Their historic memoranda were confided to the retentive 
memories of their women. The braves made their 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


307 


treaties, they did the talking; and to the squaws were 
usually confided the task of remembering all that was 
said and done. Thus they, in the main, held the history 
of treaties and of other events. 

INDIAN ART. 

His wigwam, his wampum, his mortar, and his battle- 
axe made of stone, were samples of his best skill. 
His paintings were extravagant and gaudy, his colors 
brilliant. The flesh side of the skins of beasts were 
generally taken on which to do their painting. They 
spotted their work in curious fantastic hues, and often 
with strange colorings, such as none but a wild man 
could make, contrive, or invent. They knew but little, 
and sought inventive improvements in nothing. 

CLOTHING. 

Douglas, our first writer in New England Indian 
History, says, our Northern Indians at the first wore 
skins of seals cut in different ways and sewed together 
with thongs. They had no threads of flax or hemp. 
That in other parts of the country they usually wore 
skins variously from beasts of the forest, that after the 
first English settlements had been made, they, for the 
most part wore duffels and blanketings about two yards 
square, which the Romans would have denominated 
“togas ; ” that their sagamores or sachems usually wore 
blankets with borders of different curious colors. 


3°S 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


INDIAN MANNERS. 

When the settlers first came here the Indians gener¬ 
ally entertained them with a generous feeling. But 
after a series of years had elapsed, partly by reason of 
the wild, cruel, and uncultured nature of the Indian 
himself, and of his unstable, treacherous disposition, 
and partly by reason of the want of kindness, discre¬ 
tion, honesty, and fairness of individual white men, 
who, from time to time, violated law and justice ; and 
partly from the secret machinations of French Jesuits, 
who hated the English in their dominion here, and who 
took an interest in that nation, who were accused of 
advising or instigating the northern and eastern tribes to 
invade and make war upon our English settlers, the native 
Indian was made to distrust them. Hence, true to his 
nature, at every provocation, real or surmised, he 
sprang forth from his secret hiding-places an implacable 
enemy, quick to a reckless revenge against the English. 
And yet the Canadian French, some of them at least, 
could but be convinced of his frailties, giving him, as 
some thought, his true character, to wit: Les homines 
dcs hois — Men brutes of the forest. 

Yet there was much of manliness in the Indian heart 
and many were his enjoyments of life. All had a share 
in the cool and shady hunting-grounds, and in the glit¬ 
tering skies of heaven. His fishing and hunting af¬ 
forded him a pastime, tobacco was one of his best 
luxuries. His wants, being few, were easily supplied, 
and the bow, arrow, and fishing-rod were the leading 
instruments by which he was supplied with food and 
raiment. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


309 


With his tribe, his squaw, as well as himself, wan¬ 
dered, bearing, as often she did, the heaviest part of 
the burden. The New England lakes and rivers af¬ 
forded fruitful fishing-places ; and his wigwam was 
often made glad by the song and dance; and by the 
smoking or “ drinking the pipe,” as they called it. 

The large lakes afforded them favored fishing-places. 
These, with the rivers, were a constant income as vast 
highways which brought to his use, at every returning 
spring, a full supply of salmon, alewives, and shad. At 
that day no dams or bars being in the way to prevent 
or retard the finny tribes in their advent up the rivers; 
and coming in vast numbers, they became a source of 
great wealth to the natives of New England. At the 
forks of the Merrimac, now Franklin, N. H., the sal¬ 
mon, which are prone to seek the coldest climes, gen¬ 
erally took to the cold water from the mountains and 
went up the Pemigewasset; while the other tribes 
usually sought the warm w r ater, and followed it upward 
towards the great Lake Winnipisseogee. From our 
rivers, — the Merrimac, Connecticut, Kennebec, Saco, 
the Penobscot, and their tributaries, — the thirty thou¬ 
sand Indians, that used to trail along these valleys, 
obtained their principal support. For thousands of 
years these flowing fountains had been held within their 
domains as inherited prospective property of the red man. 

Sturgeons used to be obtained from the Merrimac. 
As these large fish passed up the river, two Indians, the 
one to scull the boat, and the other to throw the wea¬ 
pon, would spear them. Many a noble sturgeon in 
those years w r ere thus slain and tugged ashore from his 
native waters. 


3io 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Douglas, who lived among the tribes, and who gave 
an account of them a hundred and forty years ago, 
says, the “ Indians are not so polite as the wandering 
Tartars. Like the wild Irish, they dreaded labor more 
than poverty. Like dogs, they are always either eating 
or sleeping, except in travelling, hunting, or dancing. 
Their sloth and indolence incline them to sottishness. 
Before Christians arrived amongst them they had no 
knowledge of strong drink. This Christian vice not 
only destroys their bodily health, and that of their 
progeny, but creates feuds, outrages, and horrid mur¬ 
ders. They are much given to falsehood and deceit. 
Their temper is the reverse of Eastern Indians, whereof 
some castes or sects will not kill any animal. The 
West Indians or Americans are barbarous, and upon 
small provocations kill their own species. Some of 
them excel in barbarity, and in revenge and fury eat 
the flesh of their enemies, not from hunger or delicacy. 
Such were the Florida Indians: they said that the 
flesh of the English ate mellow and tender ; that of the 
Spaniard, hard and tough ; the Bermudian, fishy.’ 

“ The Aboriginal Americans have no honesty, no 
honor; that is, they are of no faith, but mere brutes in 
that respect. They generally have great fortitude of 
mind : without any appearance of fear or concern, they 
suffer any torture and death. In revenge they are 
barbarous and implacable : they never forgive injuries. 

“ If one man kills another, the nearest in kindred to 
the murdered man watches an opportunity to kill the 
murderer; and the death of one man may occasion the 
deaths of many. Therefore, when a man is guilty of 
murder, he generally leaves the tribe and goes into a 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


3 11 

kind of voluntary banishment. They are a sullen, close 
people. The Indian wars ought to be called massacres 
or inhuman barbarous outrages, rather than the neces¬ 
sary acts of hostility.” 

This is the descriptive account by Douglas of the 
Indians in New England one hundred and forty years 
ago. But it may be noted that this history of the 
Indian is written by a white man under all the preju¬ 
dices which may be had by one race against another. 
So that it must be taken at least with a few grains of 
allowance 

WAR BETWEEN THEMSELVES. 

At Penacook. 

The first great battle between the tribes, of which 
tradition has any account, was that at Penacook (since 
Rumford), now Concord, New Hampshire. It appears 
to have been not long before the plague of 1617. As 
appears, the hostile Mohawk tribes, coming down from 
what is now New York to Penacook, gave battle to the 
Massachusetts, Pawtuckets, and Penacooks. 

The angry “ Mohawks, who had once been repulsed 
by the Penacooks, came there with a strong force, and en¬ 
camped at what is now called ” Fort Eddy, opposite 
Sugar Hill, on the west of the River Merrimac. Thence 
they watched their prey, determined to starve the Pena¬ 
cooks by a siege, or to decoy them out and destroy 
them. 

“ Having gathered their corn for the season, and 
stored it in baskets around the walls of their fort, the 
Penacooks, with their women and children, entered 


312 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


within, and bade defiance to their foes.” Skirmishes 
often ensued. Whenever a Penacook left the fort he 
was ambushed. If a canoe pushed off from the bank, 
another, from the opposite side, started in pursuit. The 
Penacooks would not venture an open fight, nor did the 
Mohawks dare to assail the fort. At length one day a 
solitary Mohawk was seen carelessly crossing Sugar 
Ball Plain, south of the fort. Caught by the decoy, the 
Penacooks rushed out in pursuit. The Mohawk ran 
for the river. Band after band from the fort followed 
in fhe chase, till all were drawn out of the fort; when 
the Mohawks, secretly crossing the river above, having 
approached in the rear and secre'ted themselves, now 
suddenly sprang from their hiding-places, and took pos¬ 
session of the fort. At this a terrible war-whoop went 
up from the Penacooks. They turned back, and long 
and bloody was the battle. 

The fight by the Penacooks was “ for their wives and 
children ; for their old men, for their corn, and for life 
itself.” By the Mohawks it was “ for revenge and for 
plunder.” 

The Penacooks were much reduced in numbers, and 
the Mohawks, retreating, “ left their dead and wounded 
on the ground.” 

The diversity of skulls which used to be found on 
that ancient Indian battle-ground induces the belief 
that their dead were buried promiscuously.* 

In Massachusetts. 

The second battle was that terrible conflict between 
the Tarratines of the East and the Pawtuxets and other 

* See Bouton’s “ History of Concord.” 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


313 


tribes of the west, during the plague which prevailed 
here amongst them, about the years 1617 and 1618, and 
it was their bones that were common to be found by the 
Pilgrims along the hills and in the valleys of New Eng¬ 
land, several years after that battle had been fought. 

At Sachem’s Plain. 

The third great conflict, as among themselves, was 
that of Miantonimo against Uncas; to wit : the Narra- 
gansetts against the Mohegans, in 1637, on Sachem’s 
Plain, which we have already herein elaborated. 

In the Mohawk Country. 

The fourth and last conflict among themselves was in 
1669, when the Massachusetts tribes, enforced by Eng¬ 
lish volunteers (without any authority from its colony), 
in all about seven hundred strong, took a march into the 
Maquaa's country. They were mostly young warriors, 
and moved with the intent of invading and destroying 
the Mohawks. 

Eliot, the New England apostle, ardently advised 
against this movement, but to no effect; and five of his 
Indian disciples, also volunteering, went westward into 
the fight. 

Josias, an ambitious, middle-aged Indian, led off, as 
commander. Thence they advanced two hundred miles 
through the forest, and, at length falling in upon a Mo¬ 
hawk fort, they stormed it, but lost scores of their men 
slain. Others fell sick and died; and, after much 
hesitation and delay, they gave up the siege. 

On their retreat, the Mohawks following in pursuit, 
and obtaining position in swamp and ambush, in front 


3 H 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


of them, gave battle. Their chief, Chickatabut, was 
killed, and nearly fifty of these warriors thus fell on 
their retreat from the invincible Mohawks. Their gen¬ 
eral loss was nearly one half of their-original force. 


INDIANS AGAINST THE ENGLISH. 

As between the native tribes of New England and its 
English settlers, by force of a treaty with Massasoit, 
there remained, from the advent of the Pilgrims, as we 
have seen, a peace of fifty years ; and then, with King 
Philip, hostilities commenced, which culminated into a 
war of extermination, which continued, to a greater or 
less extent, for nearly an hundred years. Its landscape, 
in the main, was a wilderness interspersed with now and 
then a clearing, a hamlet, a cot, or a wild wigwam. The 
conflicts were sometimes commenced at midnight, — as 
in the assault upon the garrisons at Cocheco, — but 
mostly in the early morning; and this accords with In¬ 
dian customs. Their weapons of war were sometimes 
the bow and poisoned arrow, or, later, the English mus¬ 
ket ; yet generally they gave battle with the blazing 
fagot, the long knife, and tomahawk. 

The weapons of the English settlers were the common 
firelock and the deadly sabre. 

The Indians’ mode of attack was, and is, like this : 
By the hundreds they at night approach a village, divide 
their force into small squads, who remain secreted in 
every part of it, and at dawn the battle commences in 
the slaughter of its men at the threshold, in the killing 
of their families, and in the burning down of their 
houses. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


315 


RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 

This was an Indian military punishment. It con¬ 
sisted in compelling the victim, with the upper part of 
his body naked, to run between two lines of Indians, 
usually with rods in their hands, who inflicted blows 
as he passed. 

pow-wow. 

Mrs. Rowlandson, the captive, described a pow-wow, 
as foreshadowed on pages 173 and 174 of this work, and 
elaborates a scene after the fight at Medfield, as fol¬ 
lows : — 

“ Before they came to us, oh the outrageous roaring 
and whooping that there was! They began their din 
about a mile before they came to us. By their noise 
and whooping they signified how many they had de¬ 
stroyed, which was, at that time, twenty-three. They 
that were with us at home were gathered together as 
soon as they heard the whooping, and every time that 
the others went over their number these at home gave a 
shout, that the very earth rang again. And thus they 
continued till those that had been upon the expedition 
were come up to the sagamore’s wigwam. And then, oh 
the hideous insulting and triumphing that there was 
over some Englishmen’s scalps, that they had taken (as 
their manner is) and brought with them! ” * 

* “ Mrs. Rowlandson’s Narrative.” 


3i 6 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


LOCATION OF THE TRIBES. 

1637. 

In the East were the Tarratines, who, in 1617, had 
invaded the Pawtuxets, of Rhode Island, and other 
tribes, and who, aided by the plague of that time, had 
nearly annihilated them. Westerly, on the Mystic, still 
smouldered the ashes of the Pequot nation. In Massa¬ 
chusetts and Rhode Island the Narragansetts — that best 
informed of all the tribes, led as they were, and had 
been, by the renowned Miantonimo and Canonicus — still 
roamed. Further westerly, in Connecticut, the valiant 
Mohegan tribes, then, and for a long time, still wan¬ 
dered, under the chief leadership of Uncas. And then, 
along the Merrimac and Connecticut Rivers, and in 
winter along the shores of the sea, were the Penacook 
and Wamesit tribes, of New Hampshire and Massa¬ 
chusetts, under the lead of Passaconaway as chief 
sachem, and afterwards of his son Wonalancet. Also 
in their midst were the Nipmuck tribes, that roamed, 
located, as they had been, between the two great rivers 
above named. More northerly, and along the easterly 
borders of New York, there were the hunting grounds 
(six tribes in all) of the warlike Mohawks; and in the 
whole making up about thirty nations, and in New Eng¬ 
land to the number of about fifty thousand native Indian 
inhabitants. These nations, organized under laws un¬ 
written, wandered wild, as all the inhabitants of the 
world (before the dawn of civilization) did in tribes 
wander. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


317 


ELIOT AMONG THE TRIBES. 

In the year 1631, John Eliot, the apostle, came to 
New England, and studiously undertook the evangeli¬ 
zation of these rude and uncultivated nations of the 
wilderness. 

At the first, in preparation for this great work, he 
directed all his sermons to the English settlers in this 
region, and, with such assistance as he could obtain, 
organized and built up churches in the English hamlets, 
at his own Roxbury, at Boston, and elsewhere, preach¬ 
ing half his time at home, and the remainder of his 
time throughout the white settlements in the neighboring 
towns of New England. And thus he advanced for the 
first fifteen years of his mission. 

In the meantime he had been educating young men 
for the ministry, had procured the building of an Indian 
college at Cambridge, in which the natives were taught 
the English language, as well as divinity; while others 
were taught the Indian language, and how to translate 
the English into the Indian language. During this 
fiften years he was also at work, by pamphlet, by letter, 
and by books of his own making, whereby he shaped 
and concentrated public opinion of the settlements in 
favor of his plans, and to the advancement of his evan¬ 
gelical enterprise. 

His assistant-preachers, his printers, proof-readers, 
and interpreters thus being schooled, the apostle then 
in the year 1646 commenced his missionary work by 
preaching his first sermon to the assembled tribes at 
Nonantum, near Natick, Massachusetts, and at Wabun’s 
tent, in the wilderness. 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


0 


is 


TROUBLES BEYOND THE SEA. 

1631. 

Eliot, in New England, had left the Old World, as 
we have seen, when the unfortunate Charles I. was 
king, and at the time when the religious creeds of the 
realm were distracted, all in dread conflict; when the 
king was at war against parliament, and parliament 
was angry against the king; when the English govern¬ 
ment was powerless to advance, its wheels being 
clogged up, the kingdom throughout broken down, and 
falling apart into factions. It was then the religious 
and political rights of the realm seemed to have come 
to an end, and the armies of England, Scotland, and 
Ireland were making sad havoc on many a field of bat¬ 
tle. And it was then that our Eliot had left England, 
and the comrades of his youth, among whom was that 
valiant heart, then young, like his own, and full of 
Republicanism, Oliver Cromwell. 

Cromwell, as appears, disgusted with England’s 
troubles, had, at about the same time, packed his trunks 
with intention also to embark for our New England; # but 
the God of governments, for wise purposes, turned the 
intent of Cromwell to still remain in England ; while 
Eliot was led, for another wise purpose, to seek the 
broad field of apostolic labors among the natives, in 
this then wilderness of the New World. And thus it 

* “ Urged by his wants and his piety, Cromwell had made a party with 
Hampden, his near kinsman, who was pressed only by the latter motive, 
to transport himself into New England, now become the retreat of the 
more zealous among the Puritanical party ; and it was on an order of 
Council which obliged them to disembark and remain in England.” — 
“ Hume's History of England,” vol. 5, ch. 61, p. 437. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


319 


proved, that while Cromwell soon became the renowned 
Protector of the realm in the Old World, Eliot, coming 
here, became the great primeval leader to a Christian. 
civilization among the settlers and Indian nations of 
the new. 

eliot’s books. 

During the existence of Cromwell’s sovereignty, of 
seven years, ending at his decease, September 3, 1658, 
Eliot here had written a book entitled “ The Christian 
Commonwealth.” In this he had planned and praised 
and chalked out a republican form of government. But, 
sad as it seems, Cromwell dying before the book issued 
from the press, and the work coming, in its terms, in 
conflict with the crown, Eliot began to see danger to 
himself upon the kingdom’s being restored to the reign 
of Charles II. * 

The colonial government also becoming anxious upon 
the matter of this book, which sought a republican 
form of government, and advising its suppression, — 
the work was suspended, and the book never was 
given to the public. Thus, more than two hundred 
years ago, did John Eliot foreshadow our republican 
form of government in his “ Christian Commonwealth,” 
thus suppressed; yet his cautious plans and sugges¬ 
tions became popular, and lived to be adopted and 
sustained by a noble nation an hundred years after 
his death. 

These were times of great anxiety and trial on both 
sides of the sea; and on the change of the government 
back from the Protectorship of a Cromwell to the 
crown of a kingdom, all of the Protector’s adherents 


320 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


were narrowly watched, and, as we have seen, some of 
them escaped to foreign ports, for their lives, under the 
general appellation of the “ Regicides.” 

CIVIL POWERS. 

All the way along, in the Apostle’s progress in New 
England, there were several elements of power which 
had to be respected. 

First of all, there was the parent English govern¬ 
ment, at London, then distracted, as we have seen, by 
terrible conflicts. Then there was the Colonial govern¬ 
ment at Boston, and then the loose, rude, and undefined 
governments of the Indian nations in New England. 

The rights, rules, habits, and customs of all these, at 
all times, were to be heeded and respected; for there is 
no nobler reward in this life than the consciousness of 
having rendered to all their dues.* 

NATICK AN INDIAN TOWN. 

Early in his mission Eliot obtained a gift, or ex¬ 
change of lands, on which to build up and organize an 
Indian town, which took the name of Natick, and 
which, in their language, means a “ Place of the 
Hills.” 

This was peopled, organized, and officered by In¬ 
dians, and all the affairs of the town were conducted 
in a perfectly orderly manner by its Christian Indian 
inhabitants nearly through the fifty years of Eliot’s 

* See Caverley’s !< Lessons of Law and Life from John Eliot the 
Apostle.” 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


321 


labors in their midst, and for nearly fifty years after¬ 
wards. At Natick, Eliot, often attended by his minis¬ 
try, met the assembled tribes of red men there, up to 
the end of his days, as well as in other Indian towns, 
then fast becoming civilized within the spacious fields 
of his labor. But, alas! the advent of Philip’s war, a 
war of extermination, fell upon Eliot and all the vast 
labors of his life, bringing dismay. The war trump 
and the conflict came upon him like the rushing of a 
terrible tempest, threatening devastation and death to 
the nations. The tomahawk and scalping-knife on the 
one hand, and the English bayonet and sabre on the 
other, were being brandished, threatening the over¬ 
throw of his Indian churches; and Eliot’s Zion was 
beginning to be tossed by the tempest. The tornado 
gathered blackness, and the lightnings and thunderbolts 
of war came down, chilling the blood of mortals. It 
was then that Christian peace and love were turned 
into madness, cruelty, and blood. Thence came the 
blazing fagot and the deadly tomahawk, with all of 
their nightly and morning horrors, waging a war of 
extermination, which wielded the blood-stained weapons 
of demons. 

And in this the Christian Indian was not allowed to 
stand neutral, but was compelled to take up arms 
against his own kindred race, or be manacled, impris¬ 
oned, or slain. Under this pressure some of the natives 
not being willing to allow their own kindred people to 
be destroyed, fled into the ranks of King Philip; some 
of them, like Wonalancet, seeking peace, wandered 
away into the dense wilderness far away ; while Eliot’s 
non-resistant Christian red men were seized, as at Na- 


322 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


tick, manacled, and boated down Charles River, and 
were held at Deer Island as prisoners of war.* 

Hence it was that one of Eliot’s disciples, Job Ne- 
suton, when the dread alternative came, taking sides 
with the English, turned into the fight with them. Job 
had been long with James, the printer in Eliot’s service 
on the Indian Bible and other works, was a good lin¬ 
guist in the Indian tongue, as well as in the English 
language. In the conflict he proved a valiant soldier, 
and fell in the fight during the first expedition at 
Mount Hope. 

1. ’T is sad to tell, how the Indian fell, 

How the storm had swept the deck, 

How the tribes of yore, all dashed ashore, 

The craft became a wreck. 

2. Bright stars shall burn, and seasons turn 

Their sunny sides forever, 

But ne’er to change, that mountain range 
Again shall know them never. 

3. True, true, they say, there’s a better day, 

And, faith, we ought to find it; 

For the lights of love that burn above 
Are lit for man to mind it. 

THE SHAM FIGHT AT COCHECO.f 

About a month subsequent to the death of King 
Philip, the war was supposed to be ended, and procla¬ 
mation was made by the English that on the sixth 
day of September, 1676, there was to be a great 
training at Cocheco, in which the red men in every part 

* Caverly’s “Lessons of Law and Life from John Eliot the Apostle,” 
page 15. 

f Dover, N. H. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


323 


of New England were invited to participate. The day 
arrived. The peaceful Wonalancet was there. Four 
hundred other Indians were there, among whom were 
that scattered and bereaved remnant of Eliot’s men, 
from Wamesit and other places, some of whom had 
been pressed into the fight against a strong desire to be 
neutral. Some of them, peaceful, had fled away for a 
while, but had returned at the joyful news of peace ; 
and all, now willing to join the white men, bringing a 
Christian olive branch, had now come to take part in 
the great training at Cocheco. 

Major Waldron, (who, as we have seen, four years 
afterwards by the tribes was murdered, at midnight,) 
was the commanding general of the day. In the order 
of exercises the sham-fight was conspicuous. In this, 
Indians, without weapons, were stationed to the drag- 
ropes of the artillery. The English, as of course, had 
charge of the guns. All being ready for the onset, a 
signal was given by the discharge of a field-piece, at 
which, by a preconcerted manoeuvre, the English in¬ 
fantry, closing in upon the Indians, on all sides, seized, 
manacled, and confined them all as prisoners of war.* 

Thus, at Cocheco had assembled the Wamesits, the 
Penacooks, the Ossipees, Pequakets, and others, all at 
the peace-making beck of the white man, and under his 
then supposed benign protection, as well as of their 
leader, the peaceful Wonalancet, and of Eliot’s Christian 
civilization. But, alas! they were all prisoners. And 

* Hubbard, the historian, says: “They were handsomely surprised, 
without the loss of any life, to the number of four hundred Indians.” 
That parade field was on the rise of ground east of the bridge over the 
Cocheco, in Dover, N. H. 


324 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


then and there, without a trial, they were separated, the 
peaceful from the perfidious. About two hundred of 
them, with Wonalancet, then thought to be harmless, 
were released. The other two hundred, being suspected 
of evil intent, were marched or boated away to Boston. 
Seven or eight of them were hanged as murderers, some 
of them sent to other parts, and some sold into slavery.* 
The selling of Indians into slavery appears not to 
have been uncommon.f 

king Philip’s war. 

This terrible conflict with the natives took its origin 
not from the masses, on the one side or the other, but 
from the depredations of desperadoes, from time to 
time, the embers of anger were constantly kindled, 
soon to be fanned forth into furious flames; and 
although terrific scenes of war and blood had trans¬ 
pired, beclouding and hedging up the pathway of the 
apostle, in the killing of his educated ministers and 
teachers, and in the distraction or destruction of his 
churches, and the people of his faith and care, Eliot 
was still prayerfully active, and, but for him and his 
people, New England most likely would have been 
lost to its first English settlers. 

ELIOT IN WAR. 

In that dread conflict the apostle had followed his 
disciples, his ministers, his teachers, his printers, his 

* See Caverly’s “ Indian Wars of New England.” 

t Just prior to this time seven Indians were sold by the Treasurer of the 
Colony, “ to be transported to any place out of this continent.” — See 
“Genealogy of the Eliot Family,” pp. 133, 134. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


325 


interpreters, and other adherents to their many places 
of imprisonment. At the Pines, on Charles River, as 
they were boated away; at Deer Island, and other 
places, while they were held imprisoned and in chains, — 
he was ever present, and, although powerless to rescue 
them, his kind, discreet voice, everywhere and to all 
administered comfort, encouragement, and consolation. 
And when, at Philip’s death, the rancor of war seemed 
10 subside, the apostle again advanced, not as before, 
but as well as he could, on foot, in the forest, preaching 
and trying to re-establish his former missionary stations, 
advancing sometimes through torrents of rain, storms 
of hail, or drifts of snow, and, as it is said, sometimes 
for days with scarcely a dry thread in his garments. 

ELIOT AT NASHUA. 

At one time previously, in the summer of 1652, he 
had started from Roxbury to preach to the tribes at 
Nashua, some sixty miles away, as then reckoned. But 
while on the journey, about midway a notice reached 
him of a conflict up there among the Indians, that 
might endanger his own life. Thereupon, for a day or 
two, he turned aside, and waited. 

The old chief at Nashua, hearing of this, at once or¬ 
ganized an armed force of twenty Indian warriors, and 
bounding through the forest surrounding their old apos¬ 
tle, escorted him safely through, with gallant honors, 
to the place of his appointment, where he was privileged 
to preach to their waiting assembly. 


326 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH- 


ELIOT’S FRIENDS. 

His Christians, in the advance of years, those who 
had already been driven out from their native soil, those 
that had perished in the fight, or otherwise had been slain, 
or had died of disease or starvation during the wars, 
including those whom he in his long life had parted 
with at the common grave, had been thousands. 

Yet he had consolation, that amid all the trials of 
earth he had constantly borne to the breeze that gospel 
banner of righteousness, beautifully inscribed “ Love 
to God; Peace on earth, and good-will towards men.” 

ELIOT AN ADVOCATE FOR SCHOOLS. 

At one of the synods held in Boston, Cotton Mather 
says: “I heard Eliot pray, ‘Lord, for schools every¬ 
where among us ; that our schools may flourish; that 
every member of this assembly may go home to procure 
a good school to be encouraged in the town where he 
lives ; that before we die we may all be happy to see a 
good school established in every part of the country.’ ” 
This was two hundred years ago. 

TEACHERS. 

Oh that the conductors and teachers of the schools 
of our time would but take inspiration from the pre¬ 
cepts and examples of Eliot and of earlier days; that 
the light of heaven, as at early morn, might break in 
upon them, that the youth of these years may be trained 
to the true science and economy of life, — to a becom¬ 
ing servitude; to a code of genuine good manners, — 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


327 


without which there can be no substantial success in 
the world ; that pupils, male and female, may be trained 
to love labor; industrious, ardent, economical labor; 
without which there can be no sound health nor solid 
comfort; and thus that the rising generations may be 
led to fervent, lofty aspirations, to duteous lives, and 
noblest achievements. 

SAGAMORE JOHN. 

In time of Philip’s War this Indian came before the 
Council at Boston, bringing with him one hundred and 
eighty warriors, with their wives and children, all of 
whom surrendered. 

In the following winter, also, under a Boston procla¬ 
mation, previously made, it is said, John, being a Nip- 
muck sachem, with many others came in, and all were 
protected of their lives. And Hubbard, who lived and 
wrote at that day, says, — 

“Yet did that treacherous villain make an escape 
this winter from Captain Prentice’s house, under whose 
charge he was put, about Cambridge village, and with 
twenty more fled away into the woods, to shift for him¬ 
self with the rest of his bloody companions. They 
were pursued, but had gone too fast and too far to be 
overtaken.” 

It was thus, and otherwise, the natives vanished 
from New England. 

EFFICACY OF PRAYER. 

Mr. Hubbard being a clergyman, as well as historian, 
complaining of the pagan propensities of Uncas, the 


328 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Mohegan chief, substantially says: “ That Parson,” 
Fiske, of Norwich, “ in the great drought of that sum¬ 
mer, had prayed constantly and fervently for rain, but 
in vain; that the English were left to pray without a?iy 
motion from the Indians; and that the drought long 
remained upon them. But that at length, by reason of 
the dearth, Uncas and his tribes were induced to come 
in and join in their prayers; at which dense clouds at 
once covered the earth, a rain-storm followed, and that 
the river rose more than two feet i?i height that night I 

WONALANCET. 

This was a son of Passaconaway, the famous sachem 
of Penacook. The name Wonalancet is defined to 
signify the “ Hero who maketh his bed well.” According 
to Indian customs it must have been given him in his 
early manhood, by his then chief, for some praiseworthy 
deed. Indian heroic names are given as follows : — 

At the conclusion of a great feast, a battle, or a 
pow-wow all are assembled, and, kneeling in a vast ring 
around their chief sagamore, the chief then rising, and 
advancing, takes the young hero of his choice — who is 
known to have performed some valiant or noble deed — 
by the hand, leads him into the ring, and crowns him 
with an appropriate name. 

In this instance it must have been done like this: 
The chief makes proclamation, announcing to the ring 
the noble deeds done, and then, turning to the hero, in 
substance he declares, that for all this thy name shalt 
be Wo?ialancet. 

This noble chief, though peaceful, held a fort on 
what is still known as Fort Hill, in our ancient 


( 

























* 



















MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


329 


Wamesit, and at one time lived on an island in the 
Merrimac, in the neighborhood of that locality. Soon 
after Philip’s death, Wonalancet wandered away to 
Canada, but nev^r returned. 

WABAN. 

Waban’s tent was at Nonaiitum, near Natick. Pie 
was Eliot’s first Indian convert to Christianity. He 
being an Indian of strong mind and good common- 
sense, was made the Police Judge of that locality of 
Indian inhabitants. The following is a verbatim copy 
of one of the warrants, which issued from Waban’s 
bench at Natick : — 

“You, you big constable, quick you catch Jeremiah 
Offscow, strong you hold um, safe you bring urn beffore 
me. Waban , Justice of the Peace.” 

INDIAN ORIGIN. 

I 

At first, from curious gem beneath the sod, 

Well blest in needful care of nature’s God, 

Whose eye, all-seeing, here began to scan 
The strange invention of mysterious man; 

By vigorous thrift, as fell the beaming rays 
Of Phoebus, fitly felt on vernal days, 

Came forth an Indian’s* infant, form divine, 

First spawn of manhood on the stream of time; 

Basking in valleys wide, earth-formed, earth-fed, 

For ripened age; by native reason led, 

* The natives were called Indians by Columbus through mistake, who at 
first supposed he had arrived on the eastern shore of India, by which they 
took their name. 


330 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


And chief o’er beast and bird, in power became 
A fitful terror to the timid game. 

Increased, at length, by Nature’s self-same laws, 
To numerous tribes, prolific, men and squaws, 

From artful wigwams, new, spread o’er the land, 
First skill evinced in architecture grand. 

He wanders wild, belted with arrows keen, 

And blest with knowledge, right and wrong between 
A stately priest at peace. Provoked to strife, 

He wields a hatchet and a scalping-knife 
With dire revenge. E’er true to self and squaw, 

He knows no faith, no code, but Nature’s law. 

His footsteps fondly dwell where now we trace 
Primeval heirlooms of the human race ; 

The chisel smooth and tomahawk, first made 
Of stone, ere art had formed the iron blade; 

Where from a narrow dock, with native crew, 

He launched, in naval pride, the first canoe, 

And ploughed the Merrimac. His dripping oar 
Ripples the waters, never pressed before, 

Bestirs the scaly tribes to nervous fear 
For rights, most sacred, thus invaded here; 

As if by instinct, they the chieftain knew 
To be a tyrant and a glutton too, 

Intent on native beast, on bird, or fish, 

By slaughter dire to fill a dainty dish; 

Whose webs are nets, from bark of trees alone, 

And mills that grind are mortars made of stone; 
Who clothed his tribes, if clad they e’er appear, 

In raiment plundered from the bounding deer; 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


331 


Who maketh treacherous hooks from guiltless bones, 
And drags a deadly net o’er sacred homes. 

And thus, o’er land and stream, for ages long, 

A race of red men, vagrant plod along, 

With language taught from rustic nature’s throne, 
And habits, each peculiarly their own ; 

On growth spontaneous fed, content with prey, 

What serves the purpose of a single day. 

Their God is seen afar, at rise of sun, 

Their life in heaven is hunting here begun ; 

By laws unwritten sachems rule the tribes, 

And lead the host, wherever ill betides, 

To fatal war. By force of arrows hurled, 

They reigned sole monarchs in this western world. 

The countless years thus passed of man’s career, 
Fraught with achievements oft enacted here : 

With works of skill, what human thought could do, 
With grand exploits, or deeds of direful hue ; 

With kings and prophets, chief in note or worth, 
Through generations vast, transpired on earth, 

Make but a blank in Time’s historic lore, 

Till voyagers from another world came o’er; 
Columbus first of all; then many more 
Within an hundred years then next before 
The Pilgrims land ; adventurers indeed, 

From Adam sprung, juniors in race and breed, 

But versed in letters, statute law, and art, 

Seniors in science, just in head and heart. 

Now, then, Samoset comes, with heart and hand 
To “welcome Englishmen,” and grant them land. 


332 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


His visage dark, with long and raven hair, 

No treacherous marks his beardless features bear; 
With frame erect, and strangely painted o’er, 
Belted around his loins, a sagamore, 

Whose bony arm a bow and arrow held ; 

A heart unsoiled his tawny bosom swelled 
To generous deeds. He broken English spake, 
And talked anon of men, — of Francis Drake, 
That gallant white man, years before who came 
And gave New Albion her historic name; 

Of Captain Smith, who since surveyed the coast, 
And other voyagers, now a scattered host, — 

Of former days some history tried to give, 

And lay of land where rambling red men live. 
Truthful Samoset proves, and seeks to bring 
The Pilgrim saints in audience with his king. 


Then Massasoit, the king, and chiefs appear, 

As well the governor and suite draw near, 

By music led; and soldiers at command, 

Clad in the homespun of a foreign land, 

And greet the king. The king no armor bears, 
Save on his breast, a knife-like weapon wears, 

White beads about his neck, a gaudy ring, 

Tobacco in a bag, hung by a string, 

Comprise the insignia of his regal power, 

Known and observed of nations as of yore. 

Both king and chiefs, with painted features, wear 
Feathers, disjoined from birds of plumage rare, 

But little else. Kindly in turn they greet 
The Pilgrim band ; and down in group now seat 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


333 


Themselves, holding discourse of allied strength 
In treaty. And when agreed, at length, 

They pass the pipe around, each drinks in turn, 

A sacred compact thus they all confirm; 

A treaty wise, that full contentment gives 
For fifty years ; while Massasoit lives. 

Advancement. 

Thus did the English proud possession share, 

By dint of treaty, all this region fair; 

Forever thence, to lay the forest low, 

To fence fair fields, and drive the crooked plough; 
To waste the wigwams which for ages spread 
The wild, and build broad mansions in their stead, 
School-houses, temples to the God of grace, 

And cities proud, peculiar to the race 
Of Adam. Diligent, through honest toil 
They reap rich harvest from the virgin soil; 

From culture, urged with bold, aggressive sway, 
Wild beasts, becoming frantic, flee away. 

As ravenous bears, and moose and wolves recede, 
Neat-cattle and the noble horse succeed, 

In aid of husbandry. Full flocks abound, 

The herds increase as roll the seasons round, 

The desert even, through culture’s grateful care, 
Soon set with fruit, begins to bloom and bear ; 

Fair Nature smiles, responsive to the plan 
Of faith in God and industry of man. 

Then follows war, and anarchy appears, 

Which came to blast the crowning thrift of years; 


334 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Yet peace at length, sweet harbinger of health, 

Of generous thrift foreshadowing weal and wealth, 
Brings her glad tidings down, and cheers the land 
With prompt good-will, and noble deeds at hand; 
To heal the broken heart, and make amends 
For waste of wars which from the past descends. 

Thence this fair vale, from mountain to the main, 
In vernal grandeur buds, to bloom again ; 

And plenteous harvest, with her golden ears, 
Crowning the prudence of progressive years, 

Adorns the field, and grace triumphant gives. 

Thus smiling spring comes in from winter’s blast, 
To swell the seed. And now the bloom is past, 
Productive seasons flit their hours away ; 

Each warms the world in bounty, day by day, 

That living things in nature may survive, 

That man and beast, that come and go, may thrive. 
From varied gifts subsistence we devise, 

And in due season gather in supplies; 

The husbandman hath care for weighty sheaves, 

Yet for a time unthreshed the grain he leaves, 

While down the meadows mowers all the way 
Swing swath on swath of verdant, heavy hay, 
Tugged there by Johnny, tossing it in air, 

To cure the crop, while yet the field is fair. 

The rakers next. The teamster, in his turn, 

With rattling cart and wheel, the forkman, stern, 
Each vies in strength, in manly ardor shown, 

They glean the glen, and bear the harvest home. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


335 


But when wild clouds have gathered in the sky, 
They quit the fumed field to thresh the rye; 

Up to the barn the fathers built of old, 

Where fearful swallows weary wings unfold 
Above; there, face to face, within the door, 

In squads divided on the spacious floor, 

The heavy sheaves lay head to head between, 

The swinging flails high in the air are seen; 

Blow follows blow, and strength to strength they vie, 
The bundles bounding rattle out the rye. 

As when two charioteers, by Bacchus strong 
Inflamed, now homeward lash their steeds along 
The bounding bridge — swift whirl the wheels around 
By dint of trial, and heavy hoofs rebound; 

So from the floor the farmer’s noisy flail, 

Reverberates aloud along the vale. 

Then note when evening gathers o’er the plain, 

Now laid at length a heavy heap of grain, 

There to be winnowed when bleak Boreas blows; 
Then high the chaff in cloudy current flows, 

And from the lifted measure, shaken seen, 

The grain in conic pile falls pure and clean. 

Then stored in bin, or cask, safe held at will, 

Awaits the money market or the mill. 

Meanwhile the field assumes a spiky form, 

The time hath come to gather in the corn ; 

On hand the laborers, on hand the cart, 

The lads are all aglee to take a part, 

For now they know, when night approaches near, 

’T will bring that joyful husking of the year. 


336 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


All now one purpose faithfully fulfil, 

The rustling ears are hurried from the hill, 

With ardent zeal; and flushed with hopeful joys, 
Above the standing stalks both men and boys, 
High on their shoulders crowded baskets wield; 
The heavy harvest carted from the field, 

They pile in heaps within the grating door, 
Throughout the spacious barn and kitchen floor 
At eve. There then the guests all seated down, 
From every cottage home in all the town — 

Some old, some young, and some quite lately born 
Vie with each other husking out the corn. 

Then comes the hour that gathers large supplies 
Of apple-dowdies and of pumpkin pies ; 

Then bends the board with viands, fruit, and wine, 
All hail that gleeful hour, the olden time! 

Then when the week hath turned her toils away, 
How mild and silent is the Sabbath day. 

’T is then the maiden , churchward as she goes, 
Proud in good looks and go-to-meeting clothes, 
Across the glen, untouched of dust or dews, 

Pears in her hand her nice embroidered shoes : 
Her stockings, too, home knit of purest white, 

Now near the temple pulls them on aright; 

Then in the precinct of that holy place, 

Where loud the parson grave dispenses grace, 
Shines forth a beauty, flounced, there seated down, 
The belle of all the beaus in all the town. 

Such neat conceptions and such care in dress, 
Deliberate judgments do not count the less. 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


337 


Go back and see ! A glance shall well suffice, 

Our kind old mothers were the best of wives; 

They paved the footpath of our lengthened lives, 
Their precepts prayerful pointed to the skies; 

True joys most dear to early days alone, 
Ungrudged they brought, forgetful of their own. 

Men of my age, we hail that Highland glee, 

That cheered the home, the hearts of you and me 
Of yore. Ye matrons, too, whose childhood prime 
Is merged in memories of that olden time, 

Call up that hour; and bear me witness too, 

Of what in early life you used to do ; 

How then on tip-toe cotton yarn you spun; 

How buzzed the band, and how the spindle run, 
How moved the thread around the handy reel, 
How dear old mother whirled the linen wheel; 
While at her knee the prattling baby stands, 
Provoking grandma with his little hands, 

To feel the forked distaff’s flaxy curl, 

Or ferret out the curious whiz and whirl 
Of wheel and spool; so fondly he admires. 

The enchanting scenes of childhood’s joyful day, 
We cherish still, though fled like flowers of May. 

Inveiition. 

Anon advance the riper years of art, 

In which inventions take decisive part, 

Whence generous genius prosecutes the plan, 

To overcome the drudgery of man ; 

Makes lifeless things impelled at his control, 

To do the duty of a living soul. 


338 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Hence cotton gins and spinning jennies fine, 
Outrun the wooden wheels of the olden time ; 
Hence power of steam, applied on sea or land, 
Expelling labor with a heavy hand, 

Work startling wonders through mechanic skill, 
To move the car, the steamboat, or the mill. 

The Iron Horse comes next to greet the day — 
A gift of Stephenson — now on the way, 

With charioteer half hid upon his back, 

Along where Merrimac hath led the track, 

Bears high his head; held harnessed to a train, 
Fraught full of life, his energies aflame, 

Loud whistling wild, and fierce impelled amain, 
He skirts the hills and snorts along the plain. 

When in the shades of night you chance to hear, 
The screaming whistle of that charioteer 
Afar — then note the belching smoke and fire ; 
The train impelled as if by Pluto’s ire, 

Darts like a dragon, whizzing winding past, 

As if from gates of hell let loose at last: 

Yet takes a charge to distant realms afar, 

And brings a kind return in peace or war, 
Shortens for aye the tedious length of space, 
Fruitful in freight for every clime and race. 

Not less the Telegraph, contrived of Morse, 
Makes labor less. Thrown out upon its course, 
Full fraught with messages diffuses light, 

Nor time, nor space, is measured in its flight; 
From state to state in every region hurled, 
Skirting the ocean bed from world to world, 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 


339 


To bear the news ; to tender useful aid 
To all the traffic of a foreign trade ; 

To catch the culprit in his wayward flight, 

And turn him back to rectitude and right. 

’T is thus the “ letters to the lightnings ” given, 

Flashed o’er the earth, reflect the light of heaven, 

Make common cause for good with all mankind ; 

So man progresses in the march of mind. 

No less the fields in cultivation fine, 

Through deep discovery in progressive time 
Advance. The patent plough, the scythe for mowing, 
And all things else of art, that seem worth knowing, 
Invented now o’ercome the farmers toil; 

They make him monarch of this sacred soil. 

Machinery. 

By Industry that artful Lowell led, 

By faith far-seeing which a Jackson had, 

The noisy flood that o’er the breaker swells 
Is turned aside to follow huge canals ; 

Structures gigantic rise in prospect fair, 

Cities that spread in beauty here and there 
Adorn the valley; * manufactory filled 
With prompt machinery as art had willed 
Her work — in stately ranks now line the shore 
Of Merrimac. Now changed the torrent roar ; 

Her fountains turned, flow down in tranquil stream, 
And rolling round the graded hills between, 

* The Merrimac now sustains seven beautiful cities and is renowned as 
being the hardest working river in the world. It waves its waters ninety 
miles from Franklin to the sea. N 


340 


BATTLE OF THE BUSH. 


Through deep-laid channels never washed before, 
Propel the ponderous wheel with mighty power. 

Fierce then the wheels, alive with one consent, 
Fly round and round, each on its duty sent; 

Ten thousand spindles, in their places spin, 

Ten thousand spools, fast wind their fibres in ; 
Ten thousand shuttles shoot across the web, 

Fed by the mules, slow back and forward led ; 
Fast-roll the fabrics from the rolling beam, 
Complete in beauty, true in thread and seam, 

The sheeting white, the listed broadcloths fine, 
Neat satinet, and carpets superfine; 

Bright gaudy prints, and blankets plainer made, 
For realms remote, for home or foreign trade; 
Workshops with throngs the vills environ, 

Magic in power, o’er wood, o’er steel and iron ; 
Alive in thought, and helping one another, 
Onward in handy art, advancing further, 
Embracing all the works that man can do, 
Through labor fruitful, and inventions new. 

Come back, Tisquantum ! if above ye dwell, 
Behold thy Merrimac, once loved so well! 

Thy race had traced it from creation’s start, 

The white man turns it to the works or art; 
Survey its progress these three hundred years, 
Since up and down, ye wandered here in tears, 
Alone, bereaved. Call once again to view 
Thy thick-set forest wild, thy birch canoe ; 

Where now thy kindred sleep, as from the first, 
Where pilgrim saints since mingled in the dust; 




TISQUANTUM’S RETURN 





























4 


MULTIFARIOUS MATTERS. 

Where now the ploughman trudges in his toil, 
Thoughtless of what still lies beneath the soil. 

Oh! let us know, from what thy name inspires, 
What is man’s destiny; what Heaven requires 
More fully still. From realms eternal fair, 

Tell us of hunting-grounds, of glory there ; 
Where blissful prospect, Heaven shall fulfil 
To generations onward, upward still; 

While purest fountains, flowing, failing never, 
Shall swell the tide of Merrimac forever ; 

Sure sign here given, of God’s enduring care, 
For what we see in heaven, in earth, or air. 


341 


THE END. 












THE INDIAN WARS 

o:f* 

NEW ENGLAND. 

WITH A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF JOHN ELIOT, 

BY 

COL. ROBERT B. CAVERLY, 

Author of “Battle of the Bushf “Epics, Lyrics and Balladsetc. 

WITH FULL PAGE ILLUSTEATIONS. 

The hardships, dangers, self-sacrifice and courage of the 
early settlers of New England, in meeting the cunning and 
relentless Indian tribes, make a story stranger than fiction, 
and a history crowded with lessons of patriotism and devo¬ 
tion to principle. The perils of frontier life at the West, are 
thought to be marvelous, but they are few and mild in com¬ 
parison with those in the early days of New England. The 
author, though a lawyer in the active duties of his profession, 
has for years made a study of early times and people and 
places, and thus prepared himself for this great work; and 
he is moreover a poet of more than ordinary genius, and 
weaves the rugged columns of historic fact and statement 
with grace and beauty. 

Every man and woman, as well as student and school 
boy or girl who has any love for New England should read 
this volume. Places now covered with splendid cities and 
quiet villages, we find from these pages, have been the theatre 
of sacrifice and suffering to establish our free country, with 
its beneficient institutions. 

IT IS A BOOK POE THE LIBEAEY AHD THE HOME, 

A volume for the youth of our land, and its lessons 
should make patriotic and self-denying men and women. 

Large, Handsome 12mo. nearly 500 Pages, Illust. Oloth, $2.00 
JAMES H. EARLE, Publisher, 

178 Washington St., Boston, Mass. 






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